Phoenix
by Scooter
Summary: Cursed permanently as a girl at Jusenkyo, Ranma is ready to give up living until she's rescued by an American Air Force officer. Another shameless SelfInsertion. Rated for citrusy overtones and adult situations. Complete, unless I get a wild hair up my
1. Chapter I

Disclaimer:  I make no attempt to own any of the characters within the following story except for my own.  All Ranma ½ characters belong to Takahashi Rumiko and Viz Video.  Please don't sue; you won't get much.  By the way, its an alternate universe/shameless self-insertion that came to me, and is inspired by a number of other works where Ranma either embraces his female half (i.e. Girl Days or Kikuko), is locked in his female form (Relatively Absent), or it's a permanent curse.  If you don't feel like reading it, or disagree with the author's ideas, you are in no way, shape or form obligated to read.

Flames will be used for heating.

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Ranma sat shivering in the doorway of an abandoned building near Misawa AB, trying to stay warm, as the first real snow of winter fell.  _Stupid old man, stupid cursed springs, stupid honor, stupid contract, stupid, stupid, stupid me for falling into that damned spring_, she thought, cursing the day she fell into the spring.  It was rotten luck that the bamboo staff was about to collapse; that her panda of a father got a lucky shot in when he leapt out of the Spring of Drowned Panda, surprising the young martial artist and bringing about her current predicament.

She had been fortunate to have been helped out by the Amazon tribe that lived near the Valley of Woe.  One of the Amazons, Balm, virtually adopted the new girl.  Balm had been in the same situation—a male doctor who had visited Jusenkyo, and happened to have fallen in the same spring—and helped Ranma immeasurably to cope with her new body and hormones.  In fact, Balm was particularly able to calm Ranma down when the latter had her first period.

Kuh Lon offered to adopt the redheaded girl into the tribe, but Ranma refused, instead wanting to go back to Japan to look for her mother.  This brought the sixteen year old to her current situation—huddling in a doorway for warmth as the Northern Japan winter set in.  She coughed, and spat out a ball of green goo.  "Great," she muttered, "I'm probably going to die out here."

  
*          *            *

Lieutenant Christopher Marx, USAF, was walking back from town, when he noticed a flash of red huddled in the corner of the old IJNAF headquarters building.  He hustled over and found a young girl, no more than 17 years old sitting in the doorway, shivering.  He knelt down next to her, and placed his hand on her shoulder.  "Do you speak English," he asked in extremely rusty Japanese.

Ranma looked up at the bespectacled _gaijin_.  "H--Hai.  A little," she replied, coughing.

Marx slipped off his nomex flight jacket and placed it around her shoulders.  "Let's get you some place warm," he said as he helped her up.  He felt her skin through her thin silk clothes; it was burning hot, contrary to her shivering.

"Y—You're not going to do anything perverted, are you?"  She mumbled drowsily.  Hypothermia and illness were beginning to work their evil magic on the redhead.

The only thing Marx understood in Ranma's statement was "pervert", but he got the gist of the question.  He shook his head.  "No, just don't want to see you getting ill.  I want to help you."

Ranma nodded, and let the American pilot help her.  They tried walking, but her feet weren't cooperating.  "Alright," Marx muttered, "this is not going to work."  He knelt back down and slipped the pigtailed girl over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, and started into a trot towards the main gate.

The two Air Force cops at the main gate saw the Lieutenant trotting up with a bundle over his shoulders.  They noticed it was a girl as he got closer.  "Hey, LT, what's up with the girl?"

"I found her in the doorway of the old IJN building.  I think she's sick, and suffering from exposure."

"You want us to call the medics and have her taken over to the hospital, sir?"

Marx shook his head, which rubbed Ranma's ribs, and elicited a quiet moan from the semi-conscious girl.  "No, Airman.  I don't think that would be a good idea yet.  But thanks for the offer.  But a ride back to the Q would be an immense help."

"Roger that, LT.  Why don't you two wait in the gate shack; it'll be warmer, and I don't know where the flight chief is."

Marx carried the pigtailed martial artist into the gate shack, and set her in the one chair there with a quiet sigh of relief.  Ranma was still breathing, which was a good sign, but still pale and feverish.  Marx knelt down next to her, and placed an arm around her shoulders to help warm her up.

One of the Security Forces 6-pack pickups pulled up and the cops helped Marx place Ranma in the backseat of the truck.  He climbed in next to her, and the flight chief climbed in behind the wheel.  "Ok, Sergeant lets go."  The flight chief shifted the truck into gear and pulled away from the gate.  As they proceeded through the snow-covered streets of the base, Marx looked at his charge, and pushed a stray red-haired lock out of her eyes.  The motion wasn't lost on the master sergeant behind the wheel.  He'd done the same thing to his daughter while she slept.  He smiled quietly to himself, at the Lieutenant's actions and his own thoughts as they pulled up in front of Marx's building.

"We're here, sir," the flight chief said, pulling Marx back to reality.  "If you'd like, I'll carry her in, while you go open up your room."

He thought about it for a moment, before Marx reached into his pocket for his keys.  "Good idea, Sarge," he said as he climbed out of the truck and headed into the building.  The flight chief slipped Ranma over his shoulders and carried her in.  Marx had already pulled down the covers, and was filling improvised hot water bags in the sink.

"Go ahead and place her on the bed."

"Roger, sir."  The sergeant placed her reverently on the bed, and backed up.  "Got her, sir?"

Marx came out and started placing Ziploc bags full of hot water around the semi-conscious girl.  "I'll be fine, Sarge.  Worst case scenario, I'll call the medics and have her transported."

"I wish we had done that in the first place, sir, but it's your call."

"Thanks for your concern, Sarge, and your help."  The flight chief left Marx to his task.  Gently, Marx opened the wooden ties on Ranma's red silk shirt.  The lack of a bra made him pause, but the Lt. had dated women before who tended not to wear certain undergarments either—but generally only on a date.  He removed her soaked slippers and slid down her black silk pants, noting boxers instead of panties.  Those he removed as well.

There was nothing sensual or erotic about what the Lieutenant was doing, just medically sound.  He had a patient to treat for hyperthermia, and was going to do so in a manner consistent with training in an earlier part of his life.  He replaced the bags at strategic locations, where blood vessels ran closest to the surface of the skin.  After placing the bags, Marx covered his unintentional guest with a thin cotton sheet, wool blanket and thick comforter.  He then dragged his desk chair over, and settled in for a long winter's night.

*          *            *

Warm.  For the first time in a long time, she felt warm.  She shifted contentedly in the bed—wait a minute, a bed?  Ranma opened her eyes and was greeted by the sight of a Mitsubishi A6M Zero attacking a Boeing B-29 Superfortress.  She closed her eyes for a moment and reopened them, looking around.  She was in unfamiliar surroundings.  Ranma noticed her savior sitting in a chair, asleep.  She sat up, and that was when the covers slid off—and Ranma realized that she was naked.

She was about to scream bloody murder, when the logical part of her brain replayed last night's conversation.  Feeling a particular part of her anatomy, she found nothing to indicate anything happened last night.  Ranma looked again at Marx asleep in his chair.  "Good morning," she called.  No response from the slumbering pilot.  She called again; still nothing.  That was when she remembered something Xian Pu taught her.  With a smile, Ranma got out of bed, and wrapped the sheet around her body like a toga—for her piece of mind, it was sufficiently thick enough not to reveal anything, but just suggested—and walked over to Marx.  She leaned in close to his ear…and shouted "Wake up!"

Marx flew out of the chair and spun around to face his guest, who smiled cutely at him.  "You're awake," he said.

"Hai.  Thank you for…"

Marx held up his hand, interrupting her.  "Slower, please."  Ranma repeated her thank you, and expressed her gratitude in slower Japanese.  One of the things that her mentor Balm and Kuh Lon went over with the new girl was basic courtesy, and when and when not to throw insults around.  "You're quite welcome.  I'm Christopher Marx."

"R-Ranma."

"No family name?"  She nodded, sheepishly.  "Would you like to tell me about it?  Talking helps sometimes."  Ranma nodded again, and was about to begin, when Marx interrupted her again.  "Let me get you something to wear."  He opened one of his wall lockers and rummaged around before coming out with a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.  "Here, they'll be a little large on you, but they'll be more comfortable than that sheet.  I'll just be in the kitchen area," he said, as he handed her the PT uniform before ducking behind the wall, letting Ranma change in privacy.

"Marx-san," she called, "you can come out now."  Marx came out, with two mugs of hot cocoa in his hands.  He handed one to his guest, and sat down on the edge of his bed.  Ranma sat in the chair, facing her host.  She took a deep breath and looked nervously between the lieutenant and the beverage in her hand, trying to this gentleman what happened, how it happened.  A small voice inside her head told her that honesty was the best policy.  Marx hadn't taken advantage of her while she was out, and dealt with her courteously, even if a little shyly.

Ranma sighed and began her tale of woe.  "This body is the result of an ancient curse.  I was born a boy…"

Marx interrupted for a moment.  "This would explain the lack of bra and the boxers."  She nodded, sheepishly.  "Go ahead."

"Since I was five years old, I've been training with my father in our family's school of martial arts.  We traveled all over the world, training with martial arts masters and learning from what training manuals Oyaji could get his hands on.  Of course little things like international borders wouldn't stop him.  I just hope he's got what's coming to him.

"Anyway, we were in China for the last leg of our training.  Pops got a hold of a guidebook, but can't read a lick of Mandarin.  Well, he saw 'Training Ground' and thought it would be a good place to train.  We arrived there, and started sparring, when the Guide there started babbling about how the springs were cursed.

"Well, it didn't sink in until I knocked Pops into the Spring of Drowned Panda."  Ranma smiled bitterly.  "It suits Oyaji too—he's fat and lazy like a panda.

"He leaps out of this spring in his cursed form, and takes me by surprise with a lucky kick, knocking me into the Spring of Drowned Young Girl.  I was shocked when it happened.  But when the Guide said that no one he's seen some out of that spring change back with hot water, that the curse is permanent, I freaked out.

"I ran, just ran away from Pops and the Springs."  Ranma chuckled bitterly.  "I used to say that 'Ranma Saotome never loses,' but this time I lost.  I lost my manhood to a curse.  Oyaji was training me to be a 'man amongst men', but I couldn't bloody well be that any more as a girl.  Weak and worthless in my father's eyes.

"I ran all day and most of the night, until I dropped from exhaustion.  An Amazon scouting party found me that night and brought me to their village.  Seems they were used to dealing with the victims of the springs.  I spent almost a year there, learning what it means to be female.  Two of the Amazons, Balm and Kuh Lon, were a great help."

"So what prompted you to leave?"  Marx asked, entranced by this story.  For him, it was like something he'd seen on TV; but to meet someone to whom it actually happened to was something else.

"I was born a guy, so the way the Amazons treat their men as second-class citizens disturbed me.  There were even some that tried treating me that way, because I wasn't a natural woman, despite the fact that I go through the same things they do once a month.  I left because of that, and because I wanted to find my mother.

"I found her, purely by accident in the Juuban section of Tokyo.  We talked for quite awhile, but she reminded me of a contract I signed before Oyaji and I left; that I was to be a man amongst men or I would commit seppuku.  She made me an offer- death or dishonor."  Tears were starting to form in Ranma's eyes.  "I…I couldn't commit suicide.  I'm only 16 years old; I have a whole life ahead of me.  I wanted to live, so my own mother expelled me from the Clan and disowned me.

"No one will give a ronin work, so I wandered around the country."

"And that's how you wound up in Misawa; sick, exhausted, and ready to die."  Ranma nodded, the tears starting to run down her face.  Marx set aside his empty mug, took his guest's hands and pulled her out of the chair, into a hug.  He let her cry herself out.  She sniffled, and looked up at Marx with her crystal blue eyes.  "Ranma," he said, "we have a problem, thanks to your mother.  You have no family name, so that I wouldn't be able to adopt you.  All your papers are for a person that technically no longer exists.  I hate to say it, but Ranma Saotome died when you came out of that Spring."  He thought for a few moments, the cogs in Marx's mind working slowly.  He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "There is a way we could make you visible to the state again.  Marriage."

"Marriage?"  Ick, no way; I'm a guy!"

"That was true until you came out of that Spring."

"But…"

Marx slowly shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Ranma."  Tears began anew for the redhead, as she came to realize that it was time to live a different life.  Marx pulled her back into a hug, holding her tightly, whispering soothing words in her ear.

"M-Marx-san…"

"Please, call me Chris."

"Chris," she said, almost as if she was savoring the way the unfamiliar word sounded to her ears.  "If I were to agree to this, would you be the one I was marrying?"

Marx smiled at her.  "Ranma, I wouldn't be suggesting this if I wasn't willing to be your husband."  He lifted her face up; wiped away a few stray tears, looked into her crystal blue eyes, and…was interrupted by the legendary Saotome stomach making its presence known by demanding it be sated.

Ranma gave her sudden fiancé an embarrassed smile.  "You wouldn't happen to have any food around, would you?"

Marx gave his guest an equally sheepish grin.  "Ah…we'll go eat over at the mess hall.  All I've got is some week old take out, that's slowly turning into a science experiment.  Something that'll have to be rectified.  Along with your lack of clothes."

Ranma sighed and was about to protest, when her stomach quite loudly made its own protest about not being fed yet.  They both chuckled, and Marx handed her a couple of pairs of socks and her slippers, along with his nomex jacket.  "These should help keep you warm, until we get you outfitted at the Exchange."  Ranma slipped the socks and slippers on, then the jacket, which was like a tent on the redhead's petite frame.  Marx grabbed his leather A-2 jacket and keys.  "Ready?"

"Hai."  The left the officers' dorm and trudged through the snow over to Marx's antique M-43 series Willy's GP.  Ranma climbed in as Marx scraped off the windshield and then fired up the old jeep.  Pulling out of the spot, Ranma asked "Christopher-kun, if you have a car, why were you walking last night?"

"I walk sometimes to clear my head.  Sometimes it'll be to the flightline to watch fighters taking off; sometimes it'll be off base.  And it was lucky for you that I was walking off base."  She nodded, reflecting on the implications of what might have happened had he not been walking by.


	2. Chapter II

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  Warning: Citrus overtones, read appropriately.

In the base's dining facility, Ranma was showing both sides of her curse.  Her tray was piled high with food, a tribute to her Saotome heritage, but was eating at a normal pace; reflecting the training that Balm and Kuh Lon literally beat into her.  Marx was duly impressed.  "Chris, you've told me very little about yourself.  I'd really like to know more about the man I'm going to marry."

Marx chuckled.  "My life hasn't been as 'unique' as yours.  I joined the Air Force right out of high school, got out three years later, and went into the Army Guard in my home state.  Was a medic for five years while doing radio troubleshooting in the Guard, and went to school to get my history degree.  Did Army OCS and got my commission as an armor officer, and was became a school history teacher.

"During that time I was married, but lost my wife three years later."

Ranma laid her hands on Marx's.  "I'm sorry."

"Thanks, it helps to know someone other than me cares.  After her death, I just wanted to get out of there; too many memories.  So I requested and received a transfer back to active duty with the Air Force, and went through undergraduate pilot training.  After graduation from Sheppard Air Force Base, I went to Luke in Arizona, and trained in the F-106G before coming to Misawa."  Marx smiled at Ranma and chuckled.  "I'm the oldest lieutenant in the wing that's a pilot.  All the other younger pilots, regardless of rank, call me either 'Grandpa' or 'Pops'.  I'm almost ready to have them just call me 'Pappy'."

"So, what do they call you now?"

Marx lowered his head, and mumbled "Scooter."

Ranma strained her ear, but didn't hear him.  "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you.  What has that again?"

Marx looked at her sheepishly.  "Scooter."  Ranma started laughing at her fiancé.  "Hey, come on, it's not my fault.  One of my instructors saw me with my glasses on and went, I quote: 'Lieutenant, you look very Scooter-ish.  From henceforth, you shall be known to all as Scooter.'"

Ranma couldn't stop laughing.  Marx, although annoyed, smiled at his fiancée.  The change was profound from earlier this morning when Ranma was a morose young girl, to this smiling, laughing, vibrant young woman.  "Are you ready, Ranma?  We still need to go shopping."

"Ah, um, yeah sure."  That was a true hint at her past self.  They left the dining hall; climbed back into Marx's GP and headed across the base to the Exchange.

  
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Not quite like a kid in a candy store, Ranma was still impressed with the size of the facility.  Marx made sure that she was going to get the full gamut of clothes—exercise, casual, a few more formal pieces, shoes, and underwear—as well as necessities like makeup and bath supplies.  As the cashier was ringing everything up, Marx could see his exchange credit card visibly crying at the use.  

Once the cashier was satisfied that they wouldn't escape, Marx headed over to the jewelry counter, looking over engagement and wedding rings.  He found Ranma a nice 1.5 carat stone in a very simple castle-type setting in white gold with a matching wedding band.  Glancing at Ranma, he smiled and purchased the rings, placing them in his jacket pocket.

Returning to the officer's dorm, it took the couple well over twenty minutes to unload the back of the dangerously overloaded GP.  Marx cleaned out one of his wall units and chest of drawers for Ranma's new clothes.  Ranma, however, wanted to get clean for the first time in quite some time.  She was standing in the shower, the hot water running down her back, breaking up the accumulated dirt and crud.  Looking down at her unchanging form, Ranma came to a realization.  _It's time I leave my past there in the past.  Now, Ranma Saotome, "man amongst men", is dead.  I have a new life now, and I'll never have to deal with that old panda again._  She reached up and untied the string that held her pigtail in place.  Letting her vibrant red hair fall loose, Ranma rid herself of the last vestige of her former life.

After finishing her shower, Ranma got out and wiped down the mirror.  Standing there, she inspected her permanent body critically for the first time since she was cursed.  Her hands wandered up and down her body, wondering what it would be like to have the man who saved her caress her with his gentle hands; wondering what it would be like to conceive and carry her children to term, raising them with the man she really wanted as her husband.  Ranma chuckled grimly.  _Husband.  At one point, I would have been in that position.  Now I am the one who will be the wife.  Very simply, I am no longer a man, nor was I cursed to be a man half the time.  I am fully female.  And I've fallen in love with a man I've only really known for a few hours.  Well, I hope I selected wisely.  One last lingering caress and Ranma picked up the new hairbrush and started working out the tangles and knots in her hair.  As she worked the brush through, her vibrant red hair took on a luster it had lost after she left the Amazon village._

Dressing quickly in an exercise suit of her trademark red and black, Ranma smiled at the mirror one last time, and left the bathroom.  Marx was immediately surprised by the way Ranma had changed from pretty tomboy to stunning young woman.  "Beautiful.  Stunningly beautiful," Marx said, captivated by her newfound beauty.

Ranma blushed, as she smiled cutely at the same time.  "Thank you, Christopher-kun.  You have no idea how that makes me feel.  Your Japanese is improving."

"Thank you.  It helps when you have to use it constantly."  He switched back to English.  "Now, we just need to work on your English."

Ranma nodded, not wanting to embarrass herself.  She watched as Marx walked over to his leather jacket and withdrew a velvet covered ring box.  She was slightly puzzled when he walked back over to her and dropped to one knee.

"Ranma," he said, "earlier today, I said that I was willing to be your husband.  Would you still be willing to marry this old man of a fighter pilot?"  She looked at the man almost twice her age in front of her on bended knee.  "I know we'll have our differences; we'll have our arguments.  I know we've only known each other for the better part of a day, but somehow it just feels right…"

Ranma interrupted him by kneeling down and wrapping her hands around his.  "Christopher-kun, you don't have to worry about the future.  We'll get through those rough times when we get to them; there's no need to worry about it now.  And yes, I'm more than willing to marry you.  You've shown more compassion and willingness to accept me for who I am than my own parents."  She let Marx slip the diamond ring on her finger, then leaned forward and kissed her now official fiancé.  "But," she added with a smirk, "I'm not giving up martial arts."

Marx replied with his own smirk.  "I have no problem with you continuing your training.  But…" he fixed his fiancée with a firm gaze, "not at the expense of your education."  

Ranma looked dejected but nodded in agreement.  "Alright," she said sotto voce.

"Look, I'm a certified teacher, so I can help you with your studies, and the subjects even I have problems with, I can have some of the pilots in the squadron help."

Ranma perked up as Marx said that.  Since she had started her training, not many had really helped her; her panda of a father didn't exactly encourage education, and the help she got from the Amazons was more towards living as a woman.  Yet the Lieutenant rescued her from certain death, got her set up with a new wardrobe, offered to tutor her in her studies, and asked for her hand in marriage.  "When do I start school?"

"I have to talk to the administrators about enrolling a dependent.  But first thing we need to do is make you my dependent; so figure about two weeks.

"I can start testing you to see where you'll need additional assistance for your course work."  Holding her hands, Marx could feel just how feverish she still was.  "But first, I believe you need to lie down and rest.  You're still fighting a bug."

"But I feel fine," she countered.

"No 'buts', Ranma.  I'm not going to let my fiancée get pneumonia just because I didn't follow through on her care.  It was bad enough we went out in this weather with you sick.

"So back into bed with you."

Ranma go a mischievous look on her face.  "Well…only if you join me."

Marx growled for a moment.  He had some paperwork to do, but soon realized that he was marrying this redheaded martial artist.  Ranma was already in bed, with the covers pulled up.  He climbed into bed and let his fiancée snuggle up to him.  "Chris?"

"Mmm?"

"For the first time since I left home, I feel safe, content.  It's like a void inside of me has been filled."

"And for me, Ranma, it's the first time that I've felt the same way since I lost my first wife."  Marx said, stroking her red hair.  She snuggled closer and rested her head on his chest.  

"Chris?"  She had a feeling, but she wanted it straight from the horse's mouth.

"Mmm?"

"How come you believe me?  For all you know, I could have been making my story up."

"You have an honest face.  Besides, who am I to judge whether or not magic, real magic, exists."

Ranma smiled.  "I'm glad you feel that way," she said, closing her eyes.

In no time, she was asleep, snoring softly.  He smiled at her, letting her nap.  _So she has her faults.  It makes me remember that she's not a china doll to be placed on a mantel and looked at; she's a martial artist.  And she was born a guy for Pete's sake.  That would have broken even the strongest man, and yet Ranma's persevered.  A true testament to her abilities.  "Sleep well, my love," he whispered._


	3. Chapter III

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer

As she napped, Ranma dreamt.  It was a nightmare she'd had before.  Her father, looming larger than life, was saying how this new technique would make her an unbeatable martial artist is she would just learn it.  "You are a useless girl, Ranma.  Weak and useless," he scolded.

"No, Poppa, I want to learn.  But I don't wanna go back in the pit."  The pathetic mewling of half-starved cats could be heard from the covered pit.

"You're whining like a girl, Ranma; a pathetic, frilly, weak little girl.  The only way you're going to earn your keep is by learning this technique.  Back into the pit with you."  

"No Poppa.  I'm not a girl; I wanna be the best martial artist in the world.  But I don wanna go back in there!"  Super-Genma picked his daughter up by the arm and threw her back into the pit.  "Poppa, _no_!"  She screamed in terror as she flew towards the now open pit, as it grew razor sharp teeth and evil green eyes.

Her scream woke Marx up, as well as her hot tears on her chest.  Ranma wept openly, clutching her fiancé in a death grip.  "No Poppa.  I'm not a girl; I wanna be the best martial artist in the world.  But I don wanna go back in there!  Poppa, _no_!"  She mumbled in her sleep.  "I'm not worthless."

"Shh," he whispered.  "You're right, you're not worthless; you mean something to someone very close to you."  Marx lay there, stroking his fiancée's hair, calming her down.  She snuffled lightly, and moved on to more pleasant dreams.  Twilight filled the dorm room with shadows.  "If this was something your father did to you, I _will_ make him pay.  I don't care if he is a martial artist; he will pay."

"Ranma, what happened during your training?  You've been having nightmares, and it's a reoccurring one at that," Marx asked at dinner one night.

She sighed and set her chopsticks down.  "Oyaji used a lot of 'unusual' training techniques.  Having wolves set upon me to make me run faster; tying me to the back of a freight train to teach endurance; leaving me out in the woods while he gorges himself on food and sake to teach survival.  All his harebrained ideas seemed to work, except one.  And that was the worst of them all—the Neko-ken."

"What kind of technique is that?"  Marx asked, gently prodding his fiancée to clear the air between them.

"Its one where the master takes his student, usually around 6 or 7, ties him up with fish sausages, and throws him into a pit of half-starved cats.  In theory, the student is supposed to teach the student to become like a cat.  But in practice it gives the student, namely me, a severe fear of cats.  I can't even be in the same room as one of those little devils without going crazy.  Because of that, the technique's been banned for years."

"He is so dead," Marx growled.

"Good luck.  That damned panda created two very special techniques for his hobby, but refused to teach them to me."

Marx smirked.  "I'll find away.  I can be very resourceful."

"I'm sure you are," Ranma said as she smiled in that annoyingly cute manner of hers.  "So what do you have planned for after dinner tonight?"

Marx reached across the table and stroked her face.  "That all depends on you."

*          *          *

Morning found Marx out on Misawa's flightline, looking the worse for wear.  "Damn, Scooter, you look like shit.  What happened to you last night?"

Marx gave his friend and wingman a weary look.  "Doc, you've always known I'm not one to kiss and tell."

1LT Brian Cobb punched his wing leader in the shoulder.  "You don't have to, Scooter.  I could hear you two last night.  So who is she?"

"She's a girl I met a couple of days ago."

"Damn you're moving quick.  So, tell me more."

"Not gonna do it, Doctor.  But I do have a favor to ask."

"What is it?"

Marx sighed.  "I'd like you to stand as a witness."

"You're not being sued are you?"   Marx shook his head.  "Then…oh dear God, don't tell me you're marrying this chick already?"  The older lieutenant nodded.  "Why?  It's only Wednesday, you probably just met her last Friday."

Marx leaned against the fuselage of his fighter.  "Two very good reasons:  One is sort of complicated; her father is an abusive drunk who'd do I don't know what to her or prostitute her for booze money.  The second, and most important, is that her mother disowned her and kicked her out of the Clan.  You should know how the Japanese are about family and family honor.  No family, no nothing."

"Oh man, Scooter, I didn't know.  Yeah, sure, I'll stand as a witness for you.  But you still need one more."

"I was thinking about asking Barney."

"Captain Miller?"  The pilot in question was the daughter of an NYPD detective and was, in her own way, a reminder to everyone in the squadron of the fictional Barney Miller.  "You think she'll go for it?"

Marx chuckled.  "You've been on alerts with her, so you know how she likes those sappy romance novels.  So here's a real life romance novel for her."

"I doubt it, but with Barney, you never know.  Go ask her."

"Gentleman," Major Thompson called, "are we flying or having a coffee break?"

"Flying sir!"  They both said as they climbed into their fighters.

  
-----

Marx stood in the men's room of the base chapel, adjusting his tie for the umpteenth time.  There was nothing wrong with it or his Class-A uniform.  "Scooter," Cobb said, "relax.  It's not like you haven't been through this before."

Marx looked at his long time friend.  "I know.  It's just that it's been awhile, and I have butter—aw, hell.  I have F-106s in my stomach.  I'm nervous."

"Scoot…Chris, believe me.  You'll be fine."

"Thanks Brian."  Marx clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder.  "Let's go get hitched."

They walked into the chapel, Ranma and Captain Miller followed a few minutes later.  The ceremony was a brief, simple affair—more of a justice of the peace type as opposed to a full ceremony.  Regardless of the type, with the recitation of vows, Ranma shed the lack of a family name even though they had used "Masaki" as her maiden name.

The reception was a small affair as well at the Officer's Club; basically a few squadron mates, Marx's crew chief, and a few of the cops partially because of the speed involved, and partially to keep costs down.  Colonel Bell, the squadron commander, granted his oldest lieutenant a 96-hour pass for the honeymoon.

It was fortunate that Marx had an associate in the prefecture office that owed him a favor.  Marx called that marker in, and by the time the newlyweds were on their way back from the honeymoon, a new set of identity papers bearing the name "Ranma Masaki" were on their way to the Lieutenant's mailbox, which allowed them to get Ranma her dependent ID card.

Friday morning found the Marxs in the principal's office of the base high school; Ranma was looking particularly nervous.  It was the first time since that all boys' school, where she met Ryouga, that her education was formalized.  The principal looked over her new student's home schooling records.  "Mrs. Marx, these circumstances are unusual in that you have no formalized school records from anywhere, and you are, I believe the first married woman to be admitted to this high school.  However, based on your scores, I would place you in the junior class; but at this late date, I feel that the sophomore class would be more appropriate."  Marx translated as best as he could for his wife, so that Ranma could understand what was being said.  "Now, I understand that you've studied martial arts for the past ten years. That will pretty much exempt you from taking a physical fitness class.  But, I want you to understand that there is no fighting on school grounds."

"Hai, sensei," she said. "What if it is in response to a formal challenge, though?"

The principal looked at the redhead.  "If it's a challenge, then bring it to the attention of faculty.  I'm sure something can be arranged at that point."

Ranma was standing at her locker, looking over her class schedule the following Monday.  "I feel so overwhelmed," she muttered.

The girl next to her overheard er comment.  "I take it you've never been to a Western-style school before?"  She asked in fluent Japanese.  A slightly wide-eyed Ranma shook her head.  "Gomen, I forgot to introduce myself.  I'm Angelica O'Brien."

"R-Ranma Marx."

"Pleased to meet you, Ranma.  First day of school as a sophomore?"  Ranma nodded.  "Do you know where you're going?"

"No.  I was shown around Friday by the principal, but…it's just so overwhelming.

"Can I take a look at your schedule, I can probably help you out."

"Thanks."  Ranma handed her schedule to her classmate.  As Angelica looked over Ranma's schedule, Ranma asked her where she learned to speak fluently.

"My grandfather taught me.  He was a Japanese interpreter for President Roosevelt's Secretary of State, Cordell Hull."  She handed the schedule back to Ranma.  "You're in the same classes as I am, so we can walk together, if that's all right with you."

"Hai.  Thank you." With the ring of the first bell, Ranma's first day in an American school started.

At lunch, Ranma placed her head on her books, and sighed.  "Is this what it's like in the States?  I swear, my brain hurts."

Angelica looked at her new friend sympathetically.  "It is, Ranma.  This is a usual pace, although I'm what they call an 'Air Force' brat.  I've been to several Tactical Air Command bases since I was born, I've been to Europe, so I technically haven't been to a civilian high school, the pace and setup are still pretty much the same."

"Kuso," the redhead muttered.

"So, it looks like we have ourselves a new student," a gruff voice said from behind the two girls said.  "And she looks kinda cute."

Angelica spun around in her chair.  Standing over the two girls was the captain of the school soccer team, and a few of his mates.  "Virgil," she said, "Ranma's not interested."

"You know not to call me 'Virgil', Angie, only 'Gus'.  And why don't I hear if from her mouth, anyway?  Or are you two already an 'item'?"

The look Angelica was giving the senior could have frozen water at 30 paces.  "One: We are not an 'item', Virgil.  And two; Ranma is struggling with her English, she's Japanese."

Ranma looked at her new friend trying to protect her, and also sized up the competition.  "I'll handle this, Angelica," she said in Japanese.  She thought about what she was going to say as she stood, and switched to English.  "Fuck you, asshole," she said while smiling cutely, in an "I know how to kick your ass" manner.

"Why, you little Jap bitch," Virgil growled.  He grabbed Ranma by her shoulders and picked her up.  "When I'm through with you…"

"Big mistake," she said, in Japanese.  Quicker than a pissed off rattlesnake, Ranma jabbed the bigger teenager in the ribs, causing him to drop the redheaded martial artist.  Ranma then drove her knee into the soccer player's crotch, causing him to drop to the floor.  With their soccer captain taken out by this little girl, the teammates behind him pick him up and carried him over to the nurse's office.

"This isn't over yet, you little slant-eyed dyke.  I'll get you for this.  You and your little friend too!"  Virgil squeaked.

"Wasn't that a little over the edge?"  Angelica asked, in a bit of awe with her new classmate.

"Nah.  The jerk had it coming to him." Ranma said, as she poked at what the cafeteria staff called "lunch".  "Man this stuff should be used for a science project.  I swear it's alive."

_Oh, boy.  I hope she realizes she just beat up the base commander's son.  I feel sorry for whomever her sponsor is when General Leonard finds out._  Angelica said to herself.

Ranma was approaching the exit doors with the rest of the throng of kids to leave the school, when her husband pulled up in his antique jeep.  Since only English was spoken in the school, the former pigtailed martial artist was forced to rely on her weak skills in that language, but they were steadily improving.  Without the steady badgering of her father, Ranma was able to turn her impressive ability to learn martial arts towards her education, especially since she was able to sleep at night, without fear of her father trying something stupid or dragging her off to continue training.  Her husband climbed out, and waited for her.  Ranma waved to him, and Marx waved back.  "Ranma, who is that?  Is that your father?"  Asked one of her new friends.

She tried to stifle a chuckle, but it came out choked.  "No, Angelica."  She gave her friend a smile.  "You know those rings I wear—the one with the diamond, and the plain white gold band?"  Her friend nodded.  Ranma pointed at the guy leaning against the fender of the Jeep.  "Well…they're my engagement and wedding rings.  Lt. Marx isn't my father; he's my husband."

Angelica barely kept her books from dropping.  "You're kidding me, right?  Does the school know?  My father's his crew chief, I had no idea, "

Ranma sighed, and had a wistful look on her face.  "No, I'm not kidding you.  And yes, the school knows."  She got serious again.  "He proposed to me the day after he met me.  I had some…family problems, so I ran away.  I was out in the cold during that first snowfall; ready to give up, when he rescued me.  And because of my family problems, he offered to help me escape them by becoming his wife.  I guess I was still sick, because I accepted."

"Ranma, just what kind of family problems were you having?"  Angelica asked.

"My father was…is a superb martial artist, but a total moron when it comes to parenting.  For ten years of my life, he abused me in the name of 'training'. Most of it was mental, but some was also physical."

"Couldn't the authorities do anything about it?"

"They tried, Angie, but he always managed to steal me back."

"So are you sure that he won't be able to do anything with you on the base?"

Ranma chuckled.  "My darling husband has accounted for that already.  He's already advised the cops about him, passed around a picture of my dear father to them.  I have better hopes with the Security Forces here on Misawa than I ever did with the local authorities."

"I hope he won't, Ranma.  You sure took the steam out of Virgil and his cronies today at lunch.  Sorry, you had to get in trouble though."

"I've, a…met their type before.  Just the proper application of a gentle knee to the crotch will dissuade them from harassing you.  And if that doesn't tell them that you're not interested, I can always teach you some basic kempo.  That'll definitely get their attention then.  Why did he think we were an item?"

"I've spurned Virgil's advances since my mother was transferred here when I was in eighth grade.  So he thinks I'm a lesbian because I don't fall for his 'manly man' routine.  His father was a missile wing commander in SAC before being assigned her as the base commander.  He probably gets his attitude from his father."

"Sounds like something my mother would have thought," Ranma muttered, to low for her new friend to hear.

"So, you'd really teach me martial arts?"  Ranma nodded.  "That's great."  Angelica hugged her classmate.  "I'll see you tomorrow."  Ranma returned the hug and let her friend run to catch the bus.

Marx smiled at his wife.  "Good day at school today?"

She kissed him, before answering.  "Hi darling.  Sort of.  I kinda got into another fight today.   But it wasn't my fault."

He climbed in after his young wife.  "How so?"  He asked, as he started the jeep up and pulled out of the school lot.

"A couple of the seniors started making passes at a few of my classmates and me.  I told them to leave us alone; one of them made the mistake of grabbing me."

"So I heard.  The school called me to tell me about it, and Colonel Bell got on me about it, because _he_ got a call from the base commander."  Marx said.  "I explained to him that it was probably an issue of self-defense.  Please, just don't let it happen again, especially if it's the son of the base commander that's involved.  Ok?"  Ranma nodded as they pulled up in front of their house.  

"I'll go get dinner ready," she said, climbing out of the jeep.  Marx nodded, and followed her in after grabbing the mail, then headed to his office to check his email.

Standing in the kitchen with the refrigerator door open, trying to decide what to make.  She'd already started a pot of water boiling for soup, and the wok was warming.  She got a smile on her face, and started pulling out vegetables, rice, a couple of eggs, and chicken.  Remembering some of the dishes she learned in China, she began preparing dinner.

Sitting at his computer, Marx sniffed the air.  His nose was assaulted by tantalizing aromas coming from the kitchen.  Giving up on his work for the moment, he stood and walked out of the home office.  The formal dining room was set in traditional Japanese style, while the kitchen had a homier, Western set up.  Marx walked into the kitchen, and saw his wife still cooking.  He slipped up behind her…and got a spatula across the face.  "Damn, that smarts," he muttered.

Ranma saw what she did to her husband and cringed.  "Gomen, but you shouldn't have snuck up on me like that."

"I know, I know.  So when's dinner going to be ready?"

"In a few minutes.  Oh, Chris, about that senior that tried to make a pass at me that I told you about earlier on the way home?"  Marx nodded, as he set the kitchen table.  "Well, he called me a—how did he say it…ah, yes—'a little Jap bitch,' and a 'slant-eyed dyke.'  And he also insinuated that one of my classmates was a lesbian, and my lover."

The glass in her husband's hand fell from his suddenly numb hand.  Ranma saw this, and dove to catch it.  With millimeters to spare, the glass was successfully saved from shattering.  She looked up at her husband, and became worried at the look on his face.  "I don't care if he is the commanding general's son, I'm going to rip his balls off and shove them down his throat," he growled.  "I'll scalp that little prick and use it to polish the cannon barrels on my fighter."  Marx was seeing red—blood red, more specifically, Virgil Leonard's blood.

The phone rang, pulling them back from the abyss.  Ranma answered it, automatically using Japanese.  "Moshi, moshi; Marx-ke."

There was a pregnant pause on the other side, followed some background noise, then a familiar voice answering.  "_Hi Ranma.  Sorry to bother you or your husband, but my father needs to speak with your husband._"

"Oh, okay Angelica…" Ranma looked at her husband.  "Chris?  Christopher-kun?"

That pulled him back to reality.  "What is it?"

"The father of one of my classmates needs to speak with you."


	4. Chapter IV

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer

The phone rang, pulling them back from the abyss.  Ranma answered it, automatically using Japanese.  "Moshi, moshi; Marx-ke."

There was a pregnant pause on the other side, followed some background noise, then a familiar voice answering.  "_Hi Ranma.  Sorry to bother you or your husband, but my father needs to speak with your husband._"

"Oh, okay Angelica…" Ranma looked at her husband.  "Chris?  Christopher-kun?"

That pulled him back to reality.  "What is it?"

"The father of one of my classmates needs to speak with you."

The change in Marx from cold, calculating fighter pilot to caring husband was dynamic.  Ranma had heard the steel in his voice before; when they were discussing her father…her, hopefully, late father.  Marx took the receiver from his wife.  "Lt. Marx."

"_Lieutenant, it's Staff Sergeant O'Brien.  Angelica told me about an incident that happened today at lunch_."

Marx relaxed a little further, recognizing the voice of his crew chief.  "Did this incident that Angelica tell you about have anything to do with Ranma in the cafeteria at the high school?"

"_How did…oh, of course, Ranma probably told you.  From what my daughter told me, and I'm sure what Ranma said, Virgil was the one that started it.  He's been after my daughter since we arrived here, and Angie's been spurning him everyday, so I'm sure that he mistook their friendship as something else.  Especially when Ranma told Virgil to…get out of her face in a not so delicate manner._"  SSgt. O'Brien's comments had the Lieutenant smiling.

"Alright, Sarge.  I'll explain to the old man what happened in the morning.  Then it goes to the General after that.  And if nothing happens from him, then we can both talk to Social Actions and the principal…" Marx trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

"_Understood, sir.  Hopefully the old man will have some insight.  See you in the morning, LT._"

Marx hung up the phone, and looked at his young wife.  He should have had some inkling that this was going to happen.  Ranma was a young, attractive woman; there was nothing that could diminish that.  She was going to attract this sort of attention regardless where she goes to school.  He chuckled sardonically.  He remembered when he was that age, how some of the girls would play hard to get or were seeing some homicidal maniac; how he'd get tongue-tied and flustered with some of the girls in his class.  He was always the shy one, except when it came to Ranma.

His mind was on autopilot as he sat down and ate in an almost mechanical manner, barely tasting the food.  Ranma noticed it, and kept her conversation to a minimum.  The dishes washed and put away, Ranma went off to do her homework; Marx headed back to the office to continue doing some of his paperwork.  By virtue of a Top Secret clearance from his Army days, he was also the squadron's classified materials custodian when he wasn't flying.  So he was going through all the documents his predecessor was supposed to have maintained, but didn't.  His supposedly better filing system was to just throw in the new documents and changes in with the old and bitch about the system.  This left Marx with the task of sitting down with the regulations and going through and reorganizing the files.  It wasn't a bad tasking just boring.  He was also lucky that the Air Force Regulations were unclassified, so he could sit and highlight exactly what needed to be corrected for the morning.

  
------

Just outside the base perimeter, opposite, in fact, of where their house was, a large panda sat watching the Marxs as they went about their business for the night.  It had taken this particular panda many months to finally find where his elusive quarry was, arriving sometimes within hours after they left town.  During this quest, there were times like this that the individual in question was glad he had fallen into the spring of drowned panda. It, at least, wasn't permanent like the one that his ungrateful whelp of a son fell into.  Not that this particular master of Anything Goes would take any blame for turning his son into his daughter.  No, this particular master was on a mission to find his so…daughter, kidnap…er, convince her to come, and marry her off to a Tendo, so that he could retire and live off his son's…daughter's hard work.  Besides, the fur coat helped keep him warm, especially as the first flakes of an impending storm landed on his black nose.

So he sat, watching, and waiting for the perfect moment to get his daughter from that _amerikajin_ she was living with.  Now, if he could just find something to eat.

  
------

Lying in bed, reading a copy of Time, Marx watched his wife get ready for bed. Ranma never ceased to amaze her husband how graceful and beautiful the former boy was.  Even the faint scars from the Neko-ken training that were still visible didn't detract from her looks.  Sure, the nightgown she put on wasn't exactly romantic, but it didn't detract from her looks either.  She noticed her husband looking over the top of the magazine.  "What are you looking at, _anata_?"

Marx set his magazine down.  "What, I can't look at my wife?"  He asked with a smile.

Ranma returned his smile.  "Of course, but with such a lecherous look, you old hentai?"

"Hentai?  Frankly my dear, I'm not a pervert."

"Oh really," Marx's young wife countered, as she climbed into bed.  "Then why did you marry a teenager?"  

"Because I fell in love with her the moment I saw her," he said with complete sincerity.  

"So, who is she?  Who's this teenager that you're so in love with that you had to marry?"

"You already know her.  I believe her name is Ranma."

She snuggled onto her husband's chest.  "And here I thought it was someone else."  There was a hint of mischief in her voice as she said it.

Marx leaned down and kissed the top of his wife's head.  "Get some sleep.  We've both got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."  Ranma's only answer was a muffled snore.  "Good night, my love," he whispered as he turned out the lights, which would have been noticed if a certain panda was awake and watching the house.

Morning broke over northern Japan with two feet of fresh snow and more to come during the day, and Ranma out on the patio practicing her katas.  The snow gave the base commander the authority to declare a safety day for base, closing down all nonessential offices and the schools, including the high school and non-alert members of the 13th and 14th fighter squadrons.  Marx was supposed to go on alert that evening, in addition to finishing the reorganizing the classified files.  That was until the Operations officer, Major Wegner, called to tell him to just report to the building at 3 for alert duty only, but be available as spare crew in case of a scramble.

Steaming cup of coffee in hand, Marx stepped outside on to the patio.  He watched Ranma make her martial arts seem effortless, but ten years on the road will to that.  The steadily falling snow made his wife look like an angel as she did her exercises, her movements fluid and conservative with energy as she fought an unseen opponent, unconcerned about the weather.  He didn't want to interrupt, but he did clear his throat.  Ranma faltered, but recovered quickly.  "How long were you standing there?"

"Long enough to watch you.  You're quite amazing."  Ranma blushed.  "I wanted to also let you know that school's been cancelled, and I don't have to go in until four."

"So what would you like to do, then?"

Marx sheepishly looked at his wife, as he set his coffee cup down on the snow-covered table.  "Would you mind teaching me Anything Goes?"

"You're really interested in learning?  You do understand that I'm not going to go easy on you."  Marx nodded.  "How much martial arts have you had?"

"Some aikido, some tae kwon doe; not much."

"Ok.  Then why don't we begin today?"  
------

Marx sat in the tub, soaking out the fatigue and muscle burn with the hot water.  The exercises that his wife put him through would have been one thing when he was 18, but fourteen years of lifting loaded or, in some cases, overloaded stretchers into ambulances, moving equipment with "US Army" or "US Air Force" stenciled on the sides, moving household belongings, survival school, and excessive G-forces had taken their toll on his flexibility, not that he was all that flexible to begin with.  His head was resting against the edge of the tub and the wall; eyes closed but not yet asleep.  But he heard the door to the bathroom open, and the light footfalls of his wife on the tile floor.

Ranma knelt down next to the tub, intent on surprising her husband.  She knew that she overworked him this morning, and wanted to make it up to him in a special way.  She knelt down next to the tub and kissed her husband on his forehead.  He barely stirred.  With a wicked grin on her face, she climbed into the tub, and straddled his hips.

Marx shot open his eyes.  "What the…" he trailed off when he saw his wife smiling cutely at him.  "Playing kiss and making up for putting me through the wringer, _aisuru_?"

"Or something like that, _anata_."  An afternoon of lovemaking followed, but there was something nagging at the back of Ranma's mind, but it was ignored by her libido.


	5. Homework Assignment

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer

Ranma sat down in front of her husband's computer, not really knowing what to write.  She had a creative writing assignment in her English class, and creativity wasn't exactly her strong point, except when it came to the Art.  It didn't help her that the Roman keys made her nervous.  It also didn't help that her husband was on alert status for the weekend, and couldn't help her.  "Aw hell, might as well tell my life story."  She chuckled to herself, as she began to hunt and peck her way across the keyboard.  "I doubt anyone is going to believe me anyway."

*            *            *

My name's Reiko Sakai, and I'm a martial artist.  I'm also married to the oldest lieutenant in one of the fighter squadrons at Misawa Airbase.  I've been training under my father for ten years straight.  Unfortunately, he's a better sensei than father; and his training methods, while unorthodox and border on the deplorable and highly dangerous, especially for the student, are highly effective.

Some of my father's techniques included having me be chased by timber wolves to teach me to run faster; tying me to the back of a freight train to raise my endurance; teaching me to get around quicker, and I actually enjoy and use that particular skill; leaving me to fend for myself in the woods while he'd be in town getting drunk and stuffing his face to teach me how to survive; oh, he'd sometimes forget to pull his punches when we'd spar, especially if he were drunk.  He'd turn anything into training—even eating.  I think he did that just to feed his fat belly.

There was one technique though that really takes the cake, though.  When I was six, my father "found" a technique manual for the Neko-ken, or "Cat Fist".  It's this supposedly unbeatable technique, but there's a draw back.  To learn the technique, the student (that was me) must be tied up with fish products and thrown into a pit of cats, starved for three to four days.  The student then either learns it by reverting to a cat-like state, or dies.  

The problem with the Neko-ken is that it's been banned for generations, because it drives the student insane.  The student, should they survive, tends to be trapped in a feral cat-like state, or develops such an intense fear of cats that by being surrounded by them triggers the technique.  

Of course, I didn't learn it the first time, so Pops threw me in several more times, with different fish products.  I finally learned it; and now I can't stand to be around cats for any extended amount of time.  If I am, the fear becomes so intense that I black out, and I'll revert to the cat-like state.  I found this out after spending some time with Amazons in the hinterlands of China.

The other thing Pops did was a never-ending search for the perfect training grounds for our school.  I guess I should mention our school of martial arts.  It's called Musabetsu Kakutou Sakai-ryu, and there are very few practitioners of the school.  Loosely translated the name means "Indiscriminate Grappling" or "Anything Goes".  What that means is that when we get into a challenge, we learn and then use our opponent's attacks against them.  Our school also uses taunts to enrage our opponent and make them loose their focus.  Another thing our school specializes in is aerial combat.  We can launch into the air and fight as comfortably as if we are on the ground; from a standing start I can leap 20-30 feet into the air.  Pops was great for teaching how to enrage someone; he'd do it to me multiple times when we'd spar, call me weak and girly.  There is one other thing I guess I should mention.  I wasn't always a girl; in fact when we started the training trip and for most of the trip, I was a boy.

Like I said earlier, Pop's was always looking for the perfect training grounds.  We wandered all over the world training with martial arts masters, learning their techniques.  Well, our wandering took us into China, and deep into the hinterlands of that nation, to the Cursed Training Grounds of Jusenkyo.  When we arrived, the one hundred or so springs were shrouded in a mist that made them seem less ominous than they actually are.  Pops and I jumped on to a bamboo stake located in different pool, launched into the air and began sparring.  

The PRC provides a guide at the Springs to warn visitors against the dangers of falling into one.  He started babbling in pidgin Japanese about the dangers when I knocked my old man into one.  He had just started saying something about the Spring of Drowned Panda when my father, now in his cursed form of a giant panda leapt out of the pool.  I was so shocked, that Pops got in a clean shot in.  I flew back, twisted around, and grabbed on to a bamboo pole in a different pool.

The pole snapped, and in I fell with a splash.  I surfaced and felt different.  Looking down, I saw what happened.  Well, hell yeah, I was in shock and passed out.  Next thing I know, I'm in the Guide's hut.  The Guide looked at me with an apologetic look on his face.  "Sorry, Mr. Customer," the Guide said, "you fall into Spring of Drowned Girl.  The reverse of hot water does not work; the curse is permanent."  

At that point, I screamed, and ran out of the hut.  I ran for most of the day and that night until I collapsed from exhaustion.  For the second time in as many days, I woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling, but this time surrounded by women.  I would have made some sort of comment, or tried to fight my way out, not that I liked fighting women.  This old troll pogoed up to my cot and looked at me.  I tried to sit up, but the local healer wouldn't let me, until she felt I was ready to.  She spoke first in Mandarin.  When I indicated I didn't understand her, she switched to Japanese.  "You should consider yourself lucky, young lady, that our patrol found you and not the Musk.  They have no compunctions about turning you into one of their breeding stock."  I shuddered on the cot, I was still a guy inside, and that sort of thing frightened the piss out of me.  Yeah, Pops tried to make me a "man amongst men" by teaching me Anything Goes Hentai Martial Arts when I was 15 at a Bangkok brothel did make me lose my virginity, and it was fun, but I didn't learn any techniques from it.  At the time, because of my condition, I really didn't appreciate what I had learned in Bangkok happening to me.  Oh yeah, Pops got caught by the Thai police and thrown in jail for prostitution, since money changed hands.  The girls of the Bangkok Chicken Ranch adopted me until Oyaji was released on his own recognizance.  Of course, we weren't supposed to leave the country, but we did.  I think there's an international warrant out for his arrest.  "What's you're name, child," the old troll asked me.

"R-Reiko Sakai," I replied, a little hesitantly.  All these feelings and different sensations, and whatnot had my system on permanent overload.

"Hm…what were you doing on the trail up from Jusenkyo?"

I sighed, and began my tale of woe.  Of how my father took me away from my home when I was 6 on a ten-year training trip, the techniques I was taught, of the places we've trained at.  I finished with our "adventure" yesterday at Jusenkyo, and how I wound up as a girl.

The Elder turned and said something in Mandarin.  I guess it was an order, because the guards in my hut turned and left, but the healer remained.  She then looked back at me, regarding me almost as a cat does the canary.  "I am Kuh Lon, an Elder of the Joketsuzoku Amazons.  I know all about Jusenkyo, child, particularly the Spring that you had the misfortune of falling in.  Balm, here," she gestured to the healer, "is one of those unfortunates that fell in.  She was a doctor, and was adopted into our tribe.  Many of our warriors and non-warriors were cursed in that particular spring.  If you are willing, Reiko, I will petition the Council to adopt you into our tribe."

"I…I'll think about it," I told her, as I lay back on the cot.  To be perfectly honest, I didn't know what to expect.  I was a girl—the creature my panda of a father told me was weak—being offered a membership into a tribe of women warriors.

Balm looked at me.  "Your ki reserves are still extremely low.  You need to rest, young one.  I will have some food and drink brought it."  I nodded and closed my eyes…

Only to be poked what seemed like a minute later.  A young Amazon with lavender hair was standing by my bed, a tray loaded with food in her hands.  "Ranma want food, yes?"  She asked in broken, pidgin Japanese.  I nodded and she set the tray down.  Taking up the chopsticks, I began to devour my food at Sakai speed.  Well, that was until I noticed my father wasn't there trying to steal my food.

I may have said it earlier, but I'll state it again.  My old man turned anything into a training exercise—even eating.  If I wasn't fast enough, he'd steal food out from under my nose.  It taught me how to be faster, and improved my hand and eye coordination, but I usually wound up tasting my food after I'd eaten it.

And this training was apparent on the young Amazon's face while I was eating.  With a sheepish grin, I apologized.  "Sorry…"

"Xian Pu."

"Shampoo."

"No, Xian Pu."

"Shampoo."  I grinned at her, because I couldn't get the pronunciation of her name in Mandarin down.  Shampoo saw my smile and started laughing.  I guess they say laughter is the best medicine, because when I started laughing, I began to feel a lot better.

I spent close to a year, something like nine or ten months, with the Amazons, and it was probably the best thing that happened to me until recently.  I told Cologne that I wanted to be just an honorary member, not a full member.  I explained to her that I still had family in Japan, and wasn't ready to give it up yet.  The Elder understood, and in a brief ceremony calling upon their goddesses, I became an honorary Amazon and a near-sister to Shampoo, mainly because I got the somewhat lonely Amazon warrior to lighten up, and look at things from a different perspective.  Heck, I didn't even know I was going to be named her near-sister; it came as a surprise when Shampoo gave me the Kiss of Sisterhood.  But it's nice that I have a sister that I can talk to, even if it is just writing back and forth.  I wonder how she handled Mu Tsu.   

The time was well spent after the ceremony.  They taught me, not only their particular brand of martial arts, but also who I had become.  But at the same time, some of the more rigid Amazons, some who still thought that I was a guy underneath my appearance, tried making me do menial labor, more appropriate to a slave.  Apparently to them, my status as an honorary Amazon wasn't worth camel spit.

Which was something else that annoyed me—the way men were treated.  But there was no way I could change a system like that, and even Cologne, the most liberal of the Elders when it came to males, would be unable to affect a change in the status quo, so there would be nothing changed.  Some of the more liberal, I guess would be the best word I can use, Amazons, particularly those that were cursed liked me, treated the males with a little more respect.  I tried my hardest to keep an even keel and not piss of those Elders that wanted Cologne to suffer a loss of face.

Balm became my mentor in a number of things—especially when it came to that time of the month.  I was freaking out when the bleeding started; I had no idea about a menstrual cycle, or periods.  She calmed me down, told me what to do, and gave me, in better detail than my old man, a lesson in sex ed.  Sure, I learned a lot at that brothel in Bangkok, especially after Pops was in jail, but that was as a guy.  For a girl, it was different.  I still get a little queasy when I remember Balm's training.

Not only was she my mentor, but Balm also became an almost surrogate mother to me.  There were nights that I couldn't sleep, especially right after I was cursed.  Pops raised me to be a man among, and the shock to my ego was too much for me to handle.  I would cry throughout the night, and Balm would be there to comfort me; let me cry myself out on her shoulder.  She would tell me that she went through the same emotional turmoil that I was going through.  I put a brave front up during the day, but nights were when I could let my emotions out, when Balm and I were alone in the hut we shared.  Slowly, though, Balm got me to express myself, and my emotions to the outside world.

Like I said, it was time well spent, so it was difficult when I left to go home.  I wanted to find my mother, to talk to her.  At the time, I didn't know about the seppuku contract I supposedly signed when I was 6.  Kuh Lon arranged for a passport and visa through the Japanese Embassy, since Pops and I swam across the Sea of Japan 

I ran into Mom near one of the malls in the Juban district of Tokyo.  I didn't know how to approach her, but I eventually did.  It was hard for the both of us to admit that I was once her son.  But I wasn't happy with what her decision was.

Sitting in the food court, she showed me the contract that my father and I signed and told me that I two choices for failing to be a man amongst men—appease family honor and commit seppuku, or be disowned and expelled from the Sakai clan.  Very harsh decisions for me to make, but my family has a samurai lineage that goes back to the Tokugawa era, so honor is everything to my family.

I told my mother that I'm too young to die; that I had a full life to live ahead of me.  "Very well," she told me.  "Then my son is truly dead to me.  Good day, madam."  With that, she stood and walked out of the food court.

I left Tokyo and wandered around the country until early December.  It was hard for me during that time to find food, let alone work.  The various Shinto shrines and temples that dotted the countryside provided me food and shelter for work at the shrine.  It wasn't the best of arrangements—there were times that I had to leave in the middle of the night because the priest was a pervert, and I didn't want my body violated.  

When Pops and I were on our training trip, we lived off the land.  But we at least had a tent.  When I left the Joketsuzoku, I didn't exactly have a tent with me, but Kuh Lon had provided enough funds for me to make it to the nearest city with a Japanese consulate, so that I could retrieve my passport and visa, and to arrange for transportation back to Tokyo.  But not enough for much camping equipment.

By the time I reached Misawa, I'd taken to living under bridges, in culverts, abandoned buildings, basically someplace that I could get overhead cover to avoid getting raped.  So I was getting sick.  By the time the first snows hit northern Japan, I wasn't feeling all that well.  Heck, I was probably getting pneumonia, I wasn't feeling all that well anymore.  I'd taken to living in the doorway of the old building just off base.

My husband found me in the doorway, ready to give up the ghost.  I was feverish, coughing up green stuff, I wasn't thinking right.  But when he helped me out, he did it out of concern for my well-being.  It was like he was a knight in shining armor out of a cheesy romance novel or _shoujo_ anime.  I apparently passed out, and the next thing I know, I'm warm, lying in a bed.  That threw me for a loop.  I opened my eyes, and the first sight that greeted me was a B-29 being attacked by an A6M.  I closed them and reopened them.  It turned out that my husband was a model builder.  I was in an unfamiliar room, naked.  I was about to scream like there was no tomorrow, when something told me I should just double check.  Warm?  Yes.  Dry?  Definitely.

I woke my savior up, using a little known Amazon technique—yelling in his ear.  We talked for a while; I explained why I was in the dire situation that I was.  He made an offer that I really couldn't refuse.  Although, there was still that little bit of male sitting in the back of my head, I protested, stating I was still a guy.

Patiently, he explained the situation, based on what I had told him.  And I realized that I should have remembered that, since I'd been like this for over a year at this point.  I still held on to the foolish notion that some how I could regain my lost masculinity.  A part of my mind, the one that Balm and Kuh Lon grew and nurtured, was reminding me that the curse was permanent; that I couldn't regain what the lone permanent spring that doesn't kill the recipient of the curse, like Nissanniichuan, the Spring of Drowned Nissan Pathfinder*.

We spent that first day together shopping, stopping at the…he called it the chow hall, but it was more like a cafeteria that what I expected a chow hall to look like, for lunch first.  As I showered when we got back to his quarters, I finally made the decision to let my past life die in the Springs; that it was time for me to embrace the woman that I was.  Now, I wasn't gay or anything when I was a guy.  Heck, the girls at Chicken Ranch were quite impressed with my stamina, and a couple of the girls who were Japanese gave me the nickname of "ran ma".  But it's just that I've spent the past year as a girl.  Balm explained to me that different hormones and chemistry would cause me to become more female over time.  She even explained a bit of her history to me; that she had a successful practice in the Nerima ward of Tokyo, as a chiropractor and general practitioner, along with a few esoteric specializations in acupuncture and moxibustion, until she left the ward to find her center.  Which was how she wound up cursed by Jusenkyo, and continued to practice her medical arts for the Amazons.  That was three years ago, and two years ago, Balm married Da Ger, a promising apprentice under the village wordsmith Ra Zor.  

When I got out of the shower and dressed, the Lieutenant asked me to marry him.  He was so cute as he did it on bended knee, waffling as he made his speech.  For a man almost twice my age, he sure is easily flustered.  But I love him anyway.

We had a quick wedding; I got my new identity and put my past behind me.  Except for my martial arts.  That's something I'll never give up.  And now I have an added surprise for my darling husband.  He wanted to learn my family martial arts, so I started him out with a series of beginning katas.  Well, I sort of pushed him a little too far, and wore him out.  So while he was recuperating in the tub, we…well I won't go into that, but suffice to say in about eight months, we're going to have a new member to the family.  And I could care less if I don't meet my mother's expectations about me being a "man amongst men"; I'm going to be a mother.

  


* * *

* This particular spring was found on Brian Drozd's webpage.  For a semi-complete list of the springs, both official, Takahasi created, and fanfic author created, visit , replacing the underscores with periods.


	6. Chapter V

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

With the Jeep idling outside the squadron building, Marx kissed his wife good-bye.  "We should be relieved about this time tomorrow.  I'll call you when I'm back at the building."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then, _anata_."  Her husband grabbed his bags from the back of the Jeep and watched her pull away.  He cringed as she ground the transmission shifting between first and second.  

"Ready for tonight, Scooter?"  Doctor asked.

Marx scrubbed his hand through his short, receding hair.  "I guess so.  Is the Old Man in?"

"Yeah, you just got here," joked Cobb.  Marx fixed his wingman with such a glare that promised a thrashing at tonight's poker game.  "Surprisingly, the Colonel's in his office, Scoot."

"Good.  Give me five, maybe ten minutes, and I'll meet you in the briefing room."  Cobb nodded, as the two pilots headed inside.  Marx paused at the CO's office, gathered up his courage, and knocked.

"Enter."  Marx did as he was requested, and walked into Col. Bell's office.  "Lieutenant Marx, what can I do for you?"

"Sir, I'd like to explain to you what happened yesterday between my wife and the CG's son."

Bell sat back.  "Lieutenant, I know you'd like to do something about this, but the General has made up his mind.  You know that we're not exactly Number One on the General's list of favorite units."

"Maybe if the General would consider having the other fighter squadron actually do their jobs, we wouldn't have to continue to wax their tails when we go up and play."  Marx commented, pushing the envelope with the Colonel.

Bell looked at this impertinent lieutenant.  "Lieutenant, be careful what you say, and where you day it.  I'll let your comment slide, this time.

"Now, don't you have an alert to pull?"

"Yes sir."  Marx saluted and left the office.  
  
-----

Even with the snow, certain base facilities were still open—namely the commissary and the exchange.  Ranma had to do some shopping for the house, picking up some food, supplies…doing the domestic things that a family does, even when her husband is at work.  And she was quite lucky that both were virtually empty.  She hated crowds; it was something that she realized when she reached Beijing, and was trying to find the Japanese Embassy.  But at the same time, she had enjoyed the anonymity of being in a crowd.

She was walking down one of the aisles of the commissary, intent on getting particular hygiene products, when she realized she was being followed.  Looking out the large plate glass windows in the front of the grocery store, Ranma could see that it was still snowing at a fair clip.  She also caught sight of Virgil's reflection in the glass.  She nonchalantly ducked down to the main aisle and over to the produce section.  Which turned out to be a mistake.

She found herself cornered by Virgil's goon squad from the soccer team.  "Kuso," she muttered.  "What Virgil?"

"I see you're alone now.  So, Ranma, why don't you and I get to know each other better…more intimately."  The look on Virgil's face could outshine even the biggest pervert in the world.  "And I don't mind if you call me 'Virgil'," he crooned.

"Yesterday didn't teach you lesson," she asked in her slightly broken English.  "I not interested."

"You're little dyke lover isn't here, so why don't you give me some loving?"  Virgil, at this point, had sidled up next to Ranma, and started pawing the redheaded martial artist, particularly in several…inappropriate locations.

Despite wanting to play "Pound the Pervert", Ranma kept her restraint and began screaming like there was no tomorrow.  "Shut up!" Virgil shouted, as his goon squad suddenly broke, and ran.

Ranma didn't respond, instead choosing to continue to scream.  She was loud and piercing enough to attract the attention of a combined USAF/JASDF security patrol parked just outside the commissary.  They came running in, as the American cop was calling in for back up.  The manager was already there, trying to find out what was happening.

The two cops separated everyone, and began interviewing.  "Marx-san," the JASDF corporal said, "what happened?"  Ranma had begun calming down, and explained what happened in quiet Japanese.  Two more Security Forces cruisers and the flight chief's pickup pulled up.  The additional cops kept everyone apart, while the initial two cops briefed the flight chief.

"This is the fourth complaint that we've received about the BC's son doing this," the master sergeant growled.  "This time we teach him a lesson."

"But Sarge, his father's the commanding general," the initial responding airman stated.

"Doesn't matter, Airman.  Have you ever met Lieutenant Marx, yet?"  The airman shook his head.  "The Lieutenant was one of us.  And he takes the time to get know us, work with us, and gets coffee out to us when he's not on alert.

"The young lady over there," the flight chief pointed over at Ranma, "is his wife.  And young Mr. Leonard crossed the line this time."  Reaching around, the sergeant retrieved his handcuffs from his pistol belt.  "Virgil Leonard, we're placing you under apprehension for inappropriate sexual contact and sexual harassment."  The base commander's son blanched as he heard the sergeant.  "We can do this two ways—the easy way, or the hard way."  Privately, the flight chief was hoping for the hard way.

Quietly, Virgil turned and placed his hands behind his back.  The flight chief had the initial responding airman handcuff and do a quick pat down of the boy, before escorting him to the waiting cruiser.

"Mrs. Marx," the flight chief said, "we need you to come down to the squadron to sign the complaint against him."

"H-hai," she replied, still a little more than shaken by the whole ordeal, flinching when the flight chief went to put his arm around her, as a supportive gesture, and to guide her to another cruiser.  _Kami-sama_, she thought, _have I become that afraid of a man's touch?_  Then she remembered the differences between her husband, and the crass young man sitting in the back of the other cruiser; the way Marx's hands, calloused as they were, were gentle when he caressed her, touched her.  Not like Virgil's overly enthusiastic, sloppy manhandling.  When she looked at Virgil, there was a look of scorn and disgust on her face.  All she wanted to do when she finished swearing out the complaint against him was to take a long hot shower.  
------

The poker game in the alert billets was in full swing, with quite a pot sitting in the center of the table.  With the weather forecast for more snow, there was probably little chance of them launching.  Cobb, Marx, the mechanics and crew chiefs, and the cops from inside the fence were in a heated game, as cigar and cigarette smoke turned the air in the dayroom gray.  The only thing missing from the table was the beer; but since they were on five minute alert, soda was the substitute.

Two phones started ringing at the same time.  Marx's crew chief, SSgt O'Brien answered one, while Cobb answered the other one.  "Lieutenant," O'Brien called over, "your wife is sitting at Security Control.  Apparently the BC's son tried to…take advantage of her."  The cigar in Marx's hand split and crushed as his hand convulsed.  "Don't worry sir.  The cops are taking care of it."

"Good.  I'm still going to head over there…"

"Uh, Scooter," Cobb said from the other, more important phone.  "We have a scramble.  Unidentified contacts from the west."  With that statement, the poker game was forgotten, and everyone dashed out of the dayroom.

As one of the mechanics started the motors that opened the pod doors, the crew chiefs did a quick inspection of their fighters, and plugged their headsets into an external interphone jack.  Marx and Cobb were already in their respective fighters, auxiliary power units running.  With thumbs up, the engines on both fighters lit off, and a quick control surface check later, the crew chiefs disconnected and saluted their pilots.

The fighters taxied out of their respective pods.  "Misawa Tower, Alfa ready to launch."

"_Alfa, Misawa Tower. You are cleared to launch.  Contact Skywatch on button 4._"

The two-ship formation of F-106s rocketed down the runway, before streaking skyward in a steep 80-degree climb.  Marx changed radio channels and keyed the radio, as both fighters climbed past 35 thousand feet.  "Skywatch, this is Alfa."

"_Roger Alfa.  Turn to heading 280.  Contacts at bearing 270, speed 250, flight level 550._"  The controller onboard the E-3C AWACS reported.

The American fighters banked on to their new heading, as their pilots pulled back to minimum afterburner, to close quickly, but still conserve fuel.  "_Tally-ho!_"  Cobb called over the radio.  "_I have a tally on the bandits.  Look like two Mike-India-Gulf Two Niners and two Tango Uniform Niner Fives.  Looks like they're on a heading for Misawa._"  The way the full moon was reflecting on the cloudbanks below provided sufficient illumination for both pilots to make out the Soviet aircraft as they closed on them.  

As they neared the Soviet formation, the American fighters matched speeds and joined the formation.  "Doctor, monitor button 4," Marx said over the radio.  "I'll try to contact them."  He switched his secondary radio over to the international distress frequency—121.5—and keyed his mike.  "Soviet aircraft, Soviet aircraft.  This is Air Force Alfa 31.  You are approaching restricted airspace.  I say again, you are approaching restricted airspace and will need to divert."

Marx heard the controllers on the AWACS passing information back and forth. He switched his radio back.  "Cobb, start falling back.  Standby to go to weapons arm.  Do not, I say again, do not lock your weapons on the targets."

"_Roger, Scooter._"  The pair of Delta Darts fell back with one notch of speed brakes and flaps to slow them down.  The two MiG-29 Fulcrums broke off their escort of the two huge turboprop bombers and moved to blocking positions.

"Skywatch, Alfa.  Requesting weapons hot, negative reply from Soviet aircraft.  Is Bravo airborne yet?"

"_Alfa, Skywatch.  I copy negative reply from Soviet aircraft.  Negative weapons hot at this time.  I say again, negative weapons hot.  Bravo is airborne and enroute to your position._"

"Roger Skywatch.  Doctor, try contacting the Soviets.  It's possible my alternate radio isn't working."

"_Roger, Scooter._"  Cobb tried contacting the Soviet aircraft.  "_Negative reply, Scooter._"

"Understood."  Marx replied.  In the inky night, he could make out the positional strobes of the backup alert crew.  "Skywatch, Alfa.  I have visual on Bravo."

"_Roger, Alfa.  Standby._"

"Roger, Skywatch, standing by."

------

Will the Cold War heat up?  Will Virgil get the punishment his so justly deserves?  And just what about Genma?

Authors Notes:

Some explanations for this particular story.  It takes place today, but it's a definite alternate universe.  The Soviet Union never dissolved in the early 90s; the Cold War isn't over.  So that means five-minute alerts for PACAF and the rest of the Air Force.

A note about the F-106 variant used in the story.  It doesn't exist, except as a kit-bash sitting on my workbench, a logical evolution of the Delta Dart to incorporate modern 21st Century avionics, engines, and armaments.  Eventually some images will appear on my website of it.


	7. Chapter VI

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer

Misawa AB

Ranma was sitting in the 35th Security Forces Squadron security control center, the flight chief, MSgt Williams, gently prodding her about the incident in the commissary this afternoon.  She also brought up the incident that occurred yesterday in the cafeteria at Edgren High.  Sgt. Williams was interested in this development, and how the young woman handled herself.  "Mrs. Marx," he asked, "why didn't you do the same thing today?"  You're more than capable of defending yourself."  The master sergeant had a daughter about her age back in the States, and would've moved heaven and earth if someone like the BC's son did what he did to Ranma to his daughter.

"I…I don't know.  Chris asked that I restrain myself, and I did.  I've been trained as a martial artist for the past ten years.  I'm learning the domestic role as I go along.

"I know I shouldn't fight, but I also know I shouldn't be this passive creature that can be walked all over."

MSgt. Williams' radio suddenly squawked to life.  "_Security Control to all posts and patrols, be advised, we have a Pinecone One.  I say again, we have a Pinecone One.  All Echo and Whiskey elements go mobile.  Security Five, Security Control._"

Williams keyed his radio.  "Security Five, copies Pinecone One."  The building shook as the alert F-106s streaked down the runway.

"What's going on?"  Ranma asked, concern in her voice.

"There's an alert scramble."

The redheaded martial artist paled.  "Does that mean war?"  She remembered that her husband was on alert status this evening.

"No.  All it means is that there's a plane that may have wandered off course, or is as yet unidentified.  Sometimes it's a Russian plane, sometimes its an off course airliner.  Since the accidental downing of KAL flight 007, the Air Force has been really cautious about making sure that the airlines are on course."  Ranma sighed, visibly relaxing.  "Mrs. Marx, would you like me to take you home?"

"Thank you Sergeant Williams, I'd appreciate it.  What about my husband's jeep?"

"As long as the steering wheel is locked, it'll be fine.  I'll leave a note for the day shift flight chief to send a cruiser over to pick you up so you can get it."

"Thank you again, Sergeant.  You've been most helpful.  What's going to happen to Virgil?"

Williams grinned.  "Mr. Leonard is going to spend the night in a holding cell.  His father has been notified, and surprisingly enough agreed with us that this would be the best for him.  It's going to go before the judge advocate general's office, although it may get bounced to the jurisdiction of the civilian magistrate.  If that happens, God help him if he's found guilty."  
------

The skies over the northern Sea of Japan were starting to get crowded.  Two Tu-95 "Bear" turboprop bombers, a pair of MiG-29 "Flanker" fighters and four American F106G fighters, three miles behind and flying in a rough trail formation, all on a heading towards Japan.  There had been no contact as yet from any of the Russian planes, and Marx was starting to get antsy.  Every second, the formation got closer towards Japan.  "Skywatch, Alfa.  What's going on?"

"_We're in trying to contact State and DOD now.  We have no notice of any Soviet exercises._"

"Understood, Skywatch."  Marx squinted through the windscreen for the formation and navigation lights of the massive turboprop bombers.  The moonlight reflecting off their bare metal structure made it a little easier to locate the long-range bombers.  Even though the fighters had a video camera mounted in an aerodynamic fairing, Marx preferred to use the old fashioned Mark 1 eyeball to find his targets, and the helmet mounted sights did make it easier.  _Ah, got them at 11 o'clock._  "Skywatch, Alfa."

"_Alfa, go_."

"Skywatch, the Bears are banking away."  Marx scanned over at the MiGs.  "MiG's are staying behind though."

"_Confirmed, Alfa.  I show the Bears turning on a vector for Vladivostok._"

Marx's auxiliary radio suddenly crackled to life.  "_Amerikanski flight leader, this is Anadyr 1.  Perhaps we can play a game, tovarich.  Would you care to play a game of tag?_"

He flipped his radio over.  "Perhaps.  What are the rules?"  He quickly switched back.  "Skywatch, Alfa.  Looks like we're going to be playing tag with the Soviets.  Keep an eye on them.  And have Bravo come over to GUARD."

"_Roger, Alfa._"

"_The rules are simple, comrade.  Two on one; your two fighters versus each of our fighters._"

"Alright then, bring it on," Marx said.  Ahead of the American formation, the two MiG-29s split away from each other, the leader lighting the afterburners.  "Doc, we're going left.  Barney, you're going right.  On my mark, split.

"Mark."  The four F-106s split formation, each section following one of the MiGs.   
------

Ranma hadn't left CSC* yet, but was sitting in the flight chief's office, listening in to the exchanges and calls between the pilots of two adversarial air forces.  It wasn't hard, since there was a receiver tuned to GUARD on the wall and all transmissions were in the clear.

MSgt Williams had a mug of tea brought in for the young martial artist, to try to calm her nerves as she listened to the mock dogfight between the American and Soviet air forces.  She sipped from it infrequently, as she listened; with her being a martial artist, she wanted desperately to go and help, but knew she wouldn't last five seconds in the cockpit of a Mach 2+ fighter.  The flight chief noticed that she'd started clenching and releasing her fists, as she listened.

As one of the American pilots was calling out something, an alarm began ringing in the background.  "_Missile!  Missile!  Bravo 43: evade, evade!"_ followed by the command "_Eject!  Eject!  Eject!_"  Ranma went stark white, as Williams dashed over to the receiver and turned it off.  
------

"Jesus Christ!"  Marx called, back on the command frequency.  "Skywatch, Bravo 43 is down.  I say again, Bravo 43 is down!  Contact Search and Rescue; get somebody out here, two zero miles east of Reference Point Charlie.

"Skywatch, request permission to go weapons hot.  Those damned Russians just flipped a missile."

"_Stand by, Alfa.  We're on the horn with PACAF now._"

"'Stand by' my ass," Marx growled into his oxygen mask.  He watched the two Soviet fighters form back up and accelerate west—towards the Soviet Union, and safety for them.  "Doc, form up on me.  Hap, head down to the deck, see if you can spot Barney in the water…or anything."  Two sets of clicks were the reply as the first pair of alert birds streaked after the Russians.

"_Alfa, Skywatch.  PACAF Operations has given you a very reluctant weapons hot.  As on scene commander, you have discretionary authority, but PACAF would like you to try to force the Soviets to turn around and land at Misawa.  PACAF'll relay the situation to the State Department and let them handle any repercussions.  Hopefully the Soviets'll be happy with just a one for one exchange._

_"JASDF SAR is launching, and will be enroute._"

"I'm sure they would, Skywatch.  But I doubt the Russians would be so cooperative.  We're also going to need tanker support for the return trip home.  I copy JASDF SAR enroute."

"_Roger that.  We'll get a tanker airborne._"

The two fighters streaked after the fleeing MiGs on tails of fire.  A pair of sonic booms later indicated that the interceptors had passed through Mach 1, and the mach meter was steadily climbing higher.  "_Alfa, Skywatch.  Bandits at your twelve o'clock; speed 1300, range 100, at your flight level and closing._

"_Tanker launching from Chitose Airbase at this time.  They'll rendezvous with you at reference point Charlie._"

"Roger," Marx replied.  He was keeping all his replies short and too the point.  His concentration was focused on keeping after those two MiGs, and accidental shift in the controls at speeds approaching 2000 miles an hour would throw the fighters off course.  _We've got a seven hundred mile an hour speed advantage over the MiGs.  Shouldn't be too difficult to catch up to them.  And if Murphy doesn't kick us in the ass, we'll get them to turn back._

Flipping his radio back to the aux transmitter, he started calling the MiGs again on GUARD.  "Anadyr 1, this is Alfa 31.  Slow to 200 knots, deploy landing gear, and turn to heading 090.  Anadyr 1, this is Alfa 31.  Slow to 200, turn to heading 090, and deploy landing gear.

"If you do not comply with our orders, we will be forced to fire on you."

"_Alfa, Skywatch.  Contact Blue Sky on button 5._"

"Roger."  Marx switched his main radio over to the new encrypted channel.  "Blue Sky, this is Alfa 31, flight of two F-106 interceptors, with you on button 5."

"_Alfa 31, Blue Sky,_" a JASDF controller replied, "_radar contact.  Bandits are still at your 12 o'clock, range five zero miles, speed four five zero.  Alfa 31 be advised that you are approaching Soviet airspace._"

"Roger.  Blue Sky, did Skywatch advise you of our status?"  

"_Affirmative, Alfa.  You are still authorized weapons hot._"

"Roger, out."  Marx looked at the range meter on his heads up display.  "Doctor, we're coming up on long AMRAAM range.  Arm one missile."  Marx flipped the master arm on, and selected his radar guided missiles.  Marx chopped the throttle and popped the speed brakes, rapidly slowing the fighter down, Cobb following his wing leader.  At five hundred indicated, both pilots pulled the speed brakes back in, and continued to chase the Russian fighters"

"_Missile armed Scooter._"  

"Roger.  You take right, I'll take left."  Marx keyed the aux radio again.  "Anadyr 1, this is Alfa 31.  This is your last chance.  Slow to 200, turn to heading 090, and deploy landing gear.  I say again, slow to 200 knots, turn to heading 090, and deploy landing gear."  When the Russians didn't reply, he called over to his wingman.  "Doc, on my mark, commence fire.  3…2…"

"_Alfa, Blue Sky.  New contacts at your 11 o'clock, altitude one zero thousand and climbing, speed five hundred and increasing.  Profile looks consistent with Foxhounds._"

"Crap.  Doc, mark.  Blue Sky, Alfa.  Fox 1!  Swing it back around to Misawa, Doc.  Let's get the hell out of here."  In the 90 degree bank they were in, turning around to get away from the incoming Russian interceptors, neither pilot saw the fireball in the distance.

"_Alfa, Blue Sky.  Splash one!  I say again, Splash one Soviet aircraft.  Bogies are now at your six o'clock, your flight level, speed Mach 2 and increasing.  Range one five zero and closing._"

"Roger, Blue Sky.  Doc, what's your fuel status?"

"_Scooter, bingo fuel.  I hope that tanker's close by._"

"And I hope we get some cover.  Those Russians are going to be pissed.  Even though they started this whole fiasco.  I've got Betty bitching at me also."

"_Alfa, Blue Sky.  Shamu at flight level 350, range two hundred, your twelve o'clock.  Contact on Button 7.  Also be advised, Charlie 56 is airborne and enroute._"

"Roger, Blue Sky.  Doc, let's go ahead, drop down, and match Shamu's speed and altitude."  Cobb's replied with two clicks, as the fighters dropped altitude and airspeed.  
------

Ranma sat in their house, in the comforting embrace of her husband's flightsuit, praying for his safe return.  She knew that his job was risky, even dangerous, but didn't want to think about that.  All she was thinking about was it could have been Marx at the receiving end of the missile.  And, unfortunately, she'd completed all her homework last night, so there was nothing to occupy her mind.  Every creak in the house reminded her of a knock at the door.  "Maybe watching _We were Soldiers_ last night before bed with Chris wasn't exactly the best idea," she muttered to herself as she puttered around the house.  With just the two of them, there wasn't much to clean up, and the laundry was done last night as well.  To keep herself fit, she'd done a series of katas, but even then, she was quickly bored.  A Christmas card from her in-laws made the redheaded martial artist smile.

But there was still an underlying current of fear.  Fear that this incident would have more serious repercussions; fear that Ranma might get that infamous knock at the door, resulting in her becoming a widow, that her new family wouldn't accept her as a reminder of their lost son.  There was also a very palpable fear of no longer wanting to live, of wanting to join her husband in the afterlife.

In the few weeks that she'd known her husband, one of the things that Marx showed her as a way to relax, to let stress try to roll away was through music.  Going through the CD collection, Ranma loaded up the CD player with what was becoming her favorites—Bach, Brahms, Beethoven, Mozart, Handel and Haydin.  The strains of a Brahms lullaby began to fill the living room, as Ranma settled into a lotus position and began to meditate.

Outside, a certain panda was looking in through the fence.  This would have been the perfect time to…convince his erstwhile offspring to come with him to Tokyo; her husband wasn't home, therefore no fight to get into.  Now, it's been said that Genma Saotome wasn't a patient man, and prone to finding the easy way out.  But the police cruiser that passed the house every twenty minutes was an extra deterrent.  _Something is up; maybe I'd better wait before I try to "convince" Ranma to come with me to Tokyo._  So the pandafied man continued to watch his daughter through the window.

Of course, what Genma didn't know was that Ranma was no longer a Saotome, and no longer honor-bound to uphold the Saotome-Tendo union.  It was a hidden Catch-22 for the overweight martial artist:  Go to Tokyo, and talk to his wife and loose his head, or grab his "daughter" and head to Tokyo and try to engage her to one of the Tendos to only find out that the agreement to unite the two Schools has been invalidated until another Saotome heir could be born.  
-----

Marx and his wingman had just finished refueling when a thick Russian accent came over GUARD with the weirdest sense of deja vu.  "_Amerikanski aircraft, this is Okhotsk 3.  Slow to 370 kilometers per hour, turn to heading 330, and deploy landing gear.  Amerikanski aircraft, this is Okhotsk 3.  Slow to 370 kilometers per hour, turn to heading 330, and deploy landing gear._"

"Doc, continue on heading 080.  Blue Sky, ETA of Charlie 56?"  The KC-767 was already hightailing it out of RP Charlie.

 "_Alfa, Blue Sky.  Stand by._"  Marx was starting to get edgy.  The Foxhounds that were approaching were just slightly faster than the Darts, and if they were coming like bats out of hell, then they were getting very close.  And, there was another reason—Amos air-to-air missiles had a 75 mile range and burned through the air at high Mach numbers.  At the most, Marx and Cobb would have seconds to try to do something after getting a "Missile Launch" warning, and it would most likely be their last.  "_Alfa, Blue Sky.  Charlie 56 ETA five mike.  Soviets are ten minutes out, raid count zero four._"

"I copy five mike for Charlie, ten mike for zero four Foxhounds.  Doc, take spacing, and be careful." 

"_FLASH!  FLASH! FLASH!  The following message has FLASH priority.  Alfa 31, Charlie 56: Stand down.  I say again, stand down.  This is Blue Sky.  Orders come from JCS and Foggy Bottom.  Be advised, Soviet interceptors are turning around.  Continue on heading 080 for Misawa Airbase.  Contact Skywatch on button 4._"

Marx was suspicious.  The sudden arrival of this message could be a spoof by the Russians.  Even though Charlie 56 had reported they were turning around, and they were on a supposedly encrypted.  But with the number of leaks in Washington, anything was possible.  He pulled up his authentication table  "Blue Sky, Alfa.  Authenticate 'Bravo Sierra'."

"_Alfa, Blue Sky.  I authenticate 'Alfa'._"

"Blue Sky, Alfa.  Wilco with Flash traffic.  Returning to base.  Doc, let's really head home."  
------

Ranma bolted upright in bed when she heard the front door open.  Leaving the lights off, she quietly pulled on her robe, and stealthily moved towards the second floor landing.  All she could discern from the street light silhouetting the person was that he was about her husband's height and had a bag in his hands.  Thinking it was a burglar; she flipped on the downstairs hall light and dove for the intruder—

Marx had just set his bag down and was turning to close the door when the light snapped on and a redheaded bundle flying down from the second floor assaulted him.  The impact drove them back out the door, where they landed in a heap on the snow-dusted sidewalk—

Ranma was through with being domestic.  Her home had been violated, she could have been violated, so was all set to play "Pound the Pervert".  With her arm cocked, and ready to through a punch that would send the intruder into la-la land, when a humor-laden voice managed to penetrate the red haze covering her eyes.  "I didn't think you'd miss me, _aisuru_."

Her arm came down.  "Ch—Chris?  You're alive?"  Ranma asked; feeling, touching her husband, making sure that it was actually him, and not a ghost or figment of her imagination.

"Very much so.  Sore, and tired, but very much alive."  He said, as the two of them stood.  Ranma attacked her husband again, but this time in an Amazon glomp that would have made her near-sister very proud.

"I was so worried.  I was in Security filling out the paperwork on Virgil when we heard the scramble and the traffic between you and the Russians, until we heard those frightening calls.  I was so afraid I was going to lose you," she cried into his chest.  Marx reached up and stroked her hair.

"I'm not going anywhere, anytime soon, I promise you."  He kissed his clinging wife's forehead.  "And I try to keep my promises."

  


* * *

* Central Security Control—usually, but not always, where the dispatch center, arms vault, and flight chief offices are.  


	8. Chapter VII

 See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer

With the onset of March, and spring's fast approach, Ranma decided to surprise her husband one morning at breakfast.  She'd spent most of last month fighting morning sickness, so in a way it was time to come clean.  It was a maintenance down day, which meant that both squadrons were grounded so that their respective maintenance squadrons could catch up on much needed work on the fighters.  It also meant that recently promoted Captain Marx was planning on enjoying a leisurely day at home, catching up on his reading.  "Chris," she said, looking over the breakfast table at him, "there's something you should know."

"Hmm," he replied.  "Is Virgil still bothering you?  I thought the base commander shipped him back to the States."

"No, no.  Nothing like that at all.  In fact school's been kind of boring since Virgil left.  What I have to say is a little closer to the two of us."  Marx's eyebrow shot up with that.  The grandfather clock in the living room, a gift from Marx's parents, rang out eight o'clock.  The joy on Ranma's face turned sour.  "Kuso, I'm going to be late."  She kissed her husband.  "I'll tell you later, _anata_," she said as she ran out the door.  
------

Sitting in his office, Marx was busy catching up on security paperwork, including a new inventory of the classified materials for the change of command inspection that was coming up.  Glenn Miller and the Andrews Sisters filled the house, keeping the middle-aged captain calm as he went about his paperwork. Of course, he'd spent his first six months with the previous custodian, maintaining the files the "wrong" way, and then the last six months correcting two years of carelessness.  So it was no surprise that he finally heard the phone ringing on the twentieth ring.  "Captain Marx, how may I help you?"

"_Captain, this is Major Rodriguez.  The wing commander would like to see you, immediately._"

"Understood, sir."  Marx hung up and closed his files, jotting a quick note to his wife, telling her where he'd be.

After an exceedingly long and grueling inquisition in the wing commander's office about "The Incident", Marx returned to the home he shared with his young wife. Three months later, and the accidental downing of an American and Russian fighter are suddenly issues.  He'd spent all day there, so by the time he was walking up the walk, the sun was already below the horizon, the last rays of light reflecting off the clouds.  He noticed the lights in the house were off, the mail still sitting in the mailbox.  He grabbed the mail, opened the door and walked in.  "Taidama," he shouted, but there was no response.  Setting the mail on the side table in the hall, Marx quickly walked through the house, searching.  Yet his young wife wasn't there.  The message on the answering machine was from the school, wondering why Ranma wasn't in.  That piqued his interest.

Making a few calls of his own, Marx was able to determine that his wife was nowhere on base—that quite possibly their worst nightmare came true.  Her father had abducted Ranma again.  Sitting at his desk, Marx picked up the phone.  He was dreading this call—one that had the same significance as though he had to contact the next of kin.  "_35th Security Forces, Staff Sergeant Alvarado.  How may I help you sir/ma'am?_"

"Sergeant Alvarado, this is Captain Marx.  I'd like to report a missing person."

"_Standby, sir._"  There was the rustling of papers, as the staff sergeant on the end of the phone grabbed the appropriate forms.  "_Go ahead, sir._"  Marx gave the pertinent information about his wife, particularly identifying marks.  The scars of the Neko-ken training were fairly obvious, as would be her fiery red hair.  "_Time last seen?_"

"Eight this morning, just before she left for school."

"_Thank you, sir.  We'll get this disseminated throughout the base and to the local authorities.  It's possible that someone may have seen her and her abductor._"

"Thank you Sergeant."  Marx sat the handset back in its cradle, and sat at his desk, in the dark.  
  
------  
A few hours earlier

Ranma was quickly running through the residential areas of the base to the high school.  She'd left the house late, not figuring that trying to tell her husband her good news would take so long, and decided that roof hopping wouldn't be the healthiest thing for the baby.  So she was running, her long hair streaming behind her like a banner.  

That is until she ran into a gi-clad brick wall.  Backing up, Ranma's face paled when she saw who it was that was standing there.

Genma looked down at his daughter.  "So, where are you off to?  Going to shack up with your weak _amerikajin_?"  He snarled.  All his hard work and training to unite the two Schools of Anything Goes and make his son the best fighter of all time ruined because Ranma had to fall in the only permanent cursed spring that isn't fatal.

Ranma glared at her father, a fire in her eyes.  "Weak?"  She repeated.  "I'll have you know that my husband is a warrior of the highest regard."  She settled into what had become her customary stance when she sparred with JASDF's unarmed combat instructors.  _He's already starting with the verbal attacks.  I've got to concentrate and ignore what he's saying._  She just managed to duck under a snap kick to her head and swept her father's legs out from under him.  "I guess you haven't run into Mom.  I'm no longer a Saotome; she kicked me out of the Clan because _you_ got me cursed and I wasn't a 'man amongst men', Oyaji!"

Startled by the truth, Genma hit the ground hard, but years of training—particularly under the Dread Master—allowed him to not only recover, but also connect with a particularly savage counter kick.  The hit to Ranma should have been fatal, would have been fatal, had it not been for her training with the Amazons.  The kick still managed to throw her back, slamming her head against the curb, knocking the redheaded martial artist out and spider webbing the concrete curb.  

The bald martial artist quickly bound his daughter, then leapt over the fence, running as fast as he could to get away from the base and to any available transport to Tokyo.

*          *            *

Ranma awoke to an unfamiliar sensation—a gentle rocking back and forth, coupled with the mild vibration of a three cylinder steam engine banging away belowdecks.  She looked around the darkened room, the only illumination coming from the full moon streaming in through the porthole.  She tried to move, but found her limbs bound by ropes.  "Kuso, the old fool really doesn't want me to escape," she muttered.  "Shibari knots and stuck on a ship.  I'm definitely not getting out of here until we dock."

Her father walked into the cabin, a half-eaten chicken leg in his hand.  "So, you're finally awake.  Did Sleeping Beauty enjoy her nap?" He sneered, taking a bite from the leg.

"Damnit Pops, you've gone too far this time.  Chris'll have every cop in Japan looking for me.  And why the hell are you doing this?  Didn't the fact that I'm not in the Clan anymore get through your thick skull?"

"Why's that?  He some sort of multimillionaire who plays at being a fighter pilot?"  Genma glared at his former son.  "You are still the heir to Anything Goes.  And I am still you sensei.  What I say, goes.  And you are coming to Tokyo with me."

"Why won't you get it through your thick skull.  I'm not a Saotome anymore!"  Ranma all but screamed to her father.  She placed her head back on the bunk once more in frustration.  Her father wasn't going to listen to her, no matter what she said or did.  Genma was stuck in his own little fantasy world, and no amount of reality was going to penetrate that fantasy world.

Her sometimes panda of a father grinned evilly at his redheaded daughter before he left the cabin.  "By the time we reach Tokyo, I'll have you sufficiently broken," as he closed and locked the door.

Tears came unbidden at the corner of her eyes, as Ranma had an inkling of what was possibly meant by her father.

  
------

Marx sat listening to the mission briefing halfheartedly.  The past three days since his wife's abduction had been sheer hell on the fighter pilot.  He'd lost his appetite, partially eating his meals; his reaction times in the cockpit were down; and his commander and element leader were beginning to worry about the mental health of the middle-aged captain.  Major Wegner looked at his notes as he finished up the operational side of the briefing.  One of the things he'd asked the cops was to be kept abreast of the search for Ranma.  And that included briefings from various Japanese police agencies.  "Okay, some news on the search for Mrs. Marx.  Misawa harbor police has a report from a longshoreman about someone fitting her description being carried aboard an old Liberty ship, now called the _Kobayashi Maru_.  The ship sailed from Misawa before the police could get aboard, but the MSDF destroyer _Kongo reported the ship sailing south at five knots."  Fuzz looked at the briefing notes he'd received.  The National Police were planning on staging a rescue mission while the Liberty Ship was at sea, requesting the use of the 353rd Special Operations Squadron out of Kadena through US Forces, Japan, unless the request was unsuccessful, then Maritime or Air SDF units would be used.  "At this time," Wegner started, hating the lie he was about to say, "the National Police are planning on a rescue mission utilizing Maritime or Air Self Defense Force assets._

"And as per the Colonel, we are not making this a joint operation, even though it would help to repair US/Japanese relations, given the number of incidents that have occurred on Okinawa.  And Captain Marx, that means no volunteering for this assignment as a liaison.  Understood?"

Marx nodded.  "Yes sir.  But…"

"No 'Buts', Captain.  If this mission goes as planned, then you won't have to worry about your wife.  And we won't have to worry about you."

"Understood sir."  Marx wasn't happy with it, but had to go along with his superior's orders.

"If there's nothing else, ladies and gentlemen, then we have a training mission to fly."  Maj. Wegner closed his folder.  "Marx, can I speak with you for a moment?"

Telling his wingman to go on ahead, Marx held up.  "What's up, sir?"

Wegner sat on the edge of the desk.  "Captain, I know this has been an extremely trying time for you, but I wanted to let you know that as soon as we find anything out about the mission, you'll be the first to know.

"This whole damn kidnapping has been an embarrassment for both the US and Japan.  It doesn't look good to the media of both nations that a Japanese national, married to an American serviceman, is kidnapped from a joint-services installation and the authorities have damn near nothing to go on.

"There's very little we can do at this point, except hope that the police can handle it from their side.  And that means no playing cowboy.  Understood?"  Marx nodded.  "Good.  Maybe this news can help pull you out of your downward slide."  
  
------

Ranma was lying on the bunk in the cabin, not that she had much choice in her current situation.  Her father still hadn't released the Shibari knots, and probably wouldn't until they reached their destination.  Throughout the voyage, her father had hinted that she'd become compliant, but the crew never took the panda up on his offers to use his daughter.  They didn't like the way that the redhead had been brought aboard, even though their captain had a no questions asked policy.

Her arms and legs had gone numb after the first couple of hours from being bound in such contorted positions.  Her body was beginning to suffer from dehydration and lack of vitamins and minerals; a depletion that was being caused by her pregnancy as well as a lack of real food.  Her father felt that rice and water would toughen his daughter back up, despite her protests about her pregnancy.  "If Oyaji did so much as harm my child, I'm going to kill him," was her steady comment the three days they were at sea.

It was a dark night when the redheaded martial artist woke up again.  Because of her bonds and lack of proper nutrition, she hadn't been sleeping right.  Of course the possible concussion she's had for the past three days might have had something to do with it.  The moon, visible for the past two nights, was covered by the leading edge of a storm system coming in from China.  The rhythmic motion of the ship started to rock the young wife back to sleep, but there was something else in the background that woke her up—a distinct, heavy thump of rotors coming closer then stationary over the ship.  The door to her cabin burst in, and three men clad in black flightsuits rushed in.

"Marx-san," one of the black-clad men asked, as a second slit the bonds holding her and the third kept an eye on the passageway, "can you walk?"  She shook her head as she tried to work the blood back into her tortured limbs.  The masked man turned to his comrades.  "We'll have to carry her out," he said in English.  The one who cut her bonds nodded and swept the redhead into a fireman's carry and out the cabin.

On deck, Genma sat on the deck, his hands bound.  Ranma gave her father an annoyingly cute smile.  "I told you my husband would move heaven and earth to get me back."

Her father looked at her.  "Ranma, my boy, you are going to bail your father out, right?"

As she was placed in the Stokes basket to be lifted up to the hovering Pave Low, Ranma snorted.  "First of all, Pops, I'm not your son.  You saw to that when you took us to Jusenkyo.  Secondly, why should I bail you out when this is your mess?  You never learned something known as restraint.  And lastly, you're only my father by genetics.  Mom kicked me out of the Clan; I'm no longer bound by any deals that you cut.  Learn from your mistakes, Oyaji.  And I hope nothing you did hurt my unborn child.  If it did, I'll file murder charges against you so quickly, that your eyes will swim."  She looked at the pararescue jumpers around the litter.  "I'd like to go home, now."

  
------

Bleary eyed, Marx reached for the phone.  "Captain Marx," he mumbled into the receiver.

"_Captain Marx, this is Sgt. Kelley, Operations.  We have some good news for you.  National Police and JASDF operatives successfully retrieved your wife this morning at 0230 hours, local._"

That information fully woke up the middle aged pilot.  "Where is she?"

"_She's currently at the clinic on Atsugi Air Facility, although the recovery team did not state her exact condition._"

"Thank you Sergeant."  Marx hung up the phone and placed his head back on the pillow.  Sleep was far from coming for Ranma's husband for this night.

  
------  
Branch Medical Clinic, NAF Atsugi

With two sets of monitors beeping incessantly and an IV pump whirring, Ranma slept fitfully.  The IVs were necessary because of the dehydration she suffered at the hands of her father; the fetal monitor because of her still unborn child, the adult monitor to make sure that there were no lasting effects of her captivity.  At least physically.  The base social worker was impressed with her mental recovery.  "How's she doing," Marx asked the nurse quietly from the door.  Her husband was still clad in his flightsuit from the flight down from Misawa.

"She's a very resilient young woman, Captain.  The IVs are just a precaution to keep her fluids up, and the concussion hasn't stopped her.  We did an ultrasound when she arrived, as well as the fetal monitoring.  As far we can tell, your child is doing fine as well.  Just as resilient as her mother."

Marx walked into the room, and sat down next to his wife.  Running his hand through his wife's fiery locks, he quietly spoke in Japanese.  "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?  Why didn't you let me drive you to school?"

Ranma reached up and held on to her husband's arm.  Replying in the same language, she told him.  "I wanted to surprise you, _anata_."  She opened her liquid blue eyes, catching her husband's hazel and held them.  "Some surprise, eh?"  

Marx patted her arm.  "It was," he chuckled sardonically.  "Let's not have it happen again, ok?"

"I doubt it will.  Genma is probably going to a zoo as part of a panda breeding program."  The redhead looked at her husband.  "Chris," she asked, "should I make amends with my mother?"

Marx looked at his wife, his hand clasping hers.  "That is your call, _aisuru_.  But what ever your decision is, I'll stand by it and support it, one hundred percent.  Thanks to your mother's rash actions last year, you are legally an adult.  And being a mother might help in that decision."


	9. Chapter VIII

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer

Marx sat in the classified vault in the squadron.  His paperwork was done, the regulations all updated and current, so he was busy going over the exercise plans for Red Flag.  But every so often, he'd take a look at the phone sitting on his desk.  On the butcher block surface next to it was a piece of paper with a phone number in one of the outer wards of Tokyo on it.  "I promised Ranma that I wouldn't interfere when we got back from Atsugi.  But I'd like to make amends with the head of her Clan," he said quietly.  "And, damnit, she's been waffling since we got home from the hospital two months ago."  He closed the folder and picked up the phone and dialed.  And waited as it rang and rang.

"_Moshi, moshi.  Saotome-ke_," the voice on the other end sounded suspiciously like Ranma.

"Saotome-san, my name is Christopher Marx.  I'm an officer with the US Air Force at Misawa Airbase.  You do not know me, but I know your…" he was about to breach a difficult subject, "your daughter."  There was a definite pause on the other end of the phone.  "Saotome-san?"

"_Go ahead, young man._"

"Ma'am, Ranma is pregnant, and would like to make amends with you.  She has made it quite plain to me that she would like to meet you at a neutral location."

"_Young man, I do not have a daughter.  I had a son who died while he was training with his father in China._"

She was about to continue when Marx interrupted her.  "Did you know that your husband abducted Ranma from where she was staying on the airbase?  That there was a three-day manhunt for her father that was solved by a dockworker?  Do you know that your husband has been extradited to Thailand for crimes he committed there while he was training Ranma?  Plus, the US military authorities want him as well for kidnapping her from an American installation.

"My god, Saotome-san, your son who is now your daughter is about to have a child, and she wants her mother to accept her and her child before we move to the United States."  Marx shut up.  He just let the cat out of the bag, so to speak.

"_Marx-san, just what exactly is your relationship with Ranma?_"

Marx sighed audibly into the handset.  He really didn't want this to happen, at least until his wife and mother-in-law met again for the first time in close to eight months.  "Ranma is my wife," he said plainly.  "We were married two weeks after I rescued her from the weather last December.  It was a marriage of convenience, but I truly love your daughter, and would do…will do anything I can to protect her.

"Saotome-san, all I ask is that you meet with your daughter, talk to her, forgive her of her father's mistake.  We'd like you to be a part of the family again."

"_I will think about what you have said, Marx-san.  Good day._"  It seemed like something aggravated her, but Marx blew it off.  Of course it was probably the way he had talked to her that did it.  

That night, Ranma noticed how quiet her husband was at dinner, and later on.  She resolved to find out what was bugging Marx, when her schoolwork and practice was done, of course.  
  
-------

A letter from Tokyo's Minato-ku arrived in the mailbox a few weeks later addressed to the Marxs.  It was with great hesitance that Ranma opened and read the letter, particularly after reading the return address.  So that when her husband walked in from work, she met him at the door.  "Christopher," she said in a tone that brooked no argument, "what's the meaning of this letter?"

Marx had an idea that he might be in a little trouble.  Taking the letter and scanning it, he was at a bit of a loss, since his ability to read kanji hadn't really improved since his marriage to Ranma.  "I would assume that it is an invitation for a meeting."

"You assume?  That's exactly what it is.  Damnit, I wanted to meet my mother on my own terms, not like this."  There was a look in his wife's eyes that he'd never seen before, and certainly wouldn't want to see again.  It was pure venom.

Marx looked at his wife.  "You want to fight it out?"  He was serious about it.  But at the same time, knew that his wife would wipe the floor with him and hoped that her time with the Joketsuzoku would remind her that some fights are better fought with words, rather than fists.  "I'd rather not, but if you're going to press the issue, then let's take this outside."

"Why should we?"  She asked, the venom still present in her voice.  "You know as well as I do that you aren't up to my skill level."

"Then would you listen to why I did it?"  Ranma nodded, and her husband began to explain why he did what he did, and that it was to have been a surprise.  She listened, but she didn't _listen_.  She heard what her husband said when he told her his side of the story, but for some reason, the underlying sentiment was missed.  Probably because she was too pissed off at her husband to really listen.

Ranma began to wonder why her husband was acting coldly to her in the days following the arrival of the letter from her mother.  Part of her mind told her that it was the way she acted when she read the letter, and that she needed to apologize to her husband.  The other part reminded her that her husband was in a squadron that was prepping for a deployment.  As she sat at the vanity combing out her long, fiery tresses, a plan began to form in her mind.  Sure she was six months pregnant, but Dr. Yamashira, the base OB/GYN, assured her that she and her husband could enjoy sex until about the seventh month, but not in…unusual positions.  The 17-year-old former heir to the Musabetsu Kakutou Saotome-Ryuu smiled as her plan came to fruition.  Even though she was off from school, and was going to enter her junior year of high school in the fall, Marx was at the squadron, preparing for Red Flag at Nellis Air Force Base, in Nevada.  So, she had the jeep and visited several stores in town to pick up what she needed.

When she asked him what turned him on one night, after a passionate session of love-making, and before The Letter, Marx told her that he was a bit of a pervert at heart, and had this thing for his partner wearing a schoolgirl's uniform with stockings and a garter belt under the dress and her hair in pigtails.  Unable to get a school fuku, Ranma settled for the lacy undergarments and pigtails.

Walking up the front walk, Marx trudged wearily home.  The past few days for the middle-aged captain had been sheer hell.  Between getting the classifieds ready for deployment, and going up against the Panthers, he was beat.  With Red Flag around the corner, both combat squadrons on base were trying to outperform the other.  So caught up in mentally reviewing his performance today, he missed the fact that his wife was wearing a kimono when he walked through the door.  "Evening, Ranma," he muttered.  *God,* he thought, *these long days are killing me.  I just want to eat, and get some sleep.*  

"Welcome home, _anata_.  Why don't you go upstairs, get cleaned up and change; dinner will be ready soon."  *He didn't notice,* she thought to herself.  *I guess his mind is elsewhere right now.  Probably stuck at work.*

Marx nodded and staggered up the stairs.  Not noticing the kimono hanging from the bathroom door, he showered, the hot water reinvigorating him.  He pulled the kimono on, and headed down stairs.  That was when he noticed his wife for the first time that night.  She was standing there, her long red hair done up in two pigtails.  The lavender floral print kimono contrasted her pale complexion perfectly.  Ranma smiled as she let her husband's eyes roam over her body; her swollen belly didn't seem to detract from her looks.  In fact, it served to remind her husband how much he had come to love her since that cold, snowy December night.  "Christopher," she said, "I'd like to apologize for the way I acted when my mother sent us the letter.  It was, unfortunately, childish and immature of me to act the way I did."

Marx was pulled out of his reexamination of his wife by her statement.  "And it was childish of me to do what I did, my love.  I should have said something earlier, but with the upcoming mission, I've had a lot on my mind…"

She placed her finger against his mouth.  "Shh," she said.  "We both caused what happened.  So let's not dwell on it.  Ok?"  Marx nodded, and his wife took his hand and led him into the dining room.  The Captain knelt on to a cushion at the table, as wife went into the kitchen and began bringing out the covered dishes with dinner.

Dinner was a quiet affair, although the Marx nodded appreciatively at his young wife for the improved quality in the food.  It seemed that both parties forgave the other for the fight.  Marx talked to his wife about work and the upcoming deployment to Nellis.  "What's for dessert?"  Marx asked his wife.

An innocent enough question with a not so innocent answer.  Ranma stood, and undid the obi on her kimono.  She let the silk garment fall in a puddle around her feet.  Marx felt the hint of a nosebleed come on as he looked at his wife standing there.  The red lace bra and silk panties brought out the blue in her eyes, and matched her red hair perfectly.  "I was hoping," she said in a not so innocent voice, "you would take me for dessert."

A lecherous smile appeared on Marx's face.  "Did you really have to ask," he said, as he reached over the low table and ran his hands along her stocking-clad legs.  Ranma moaned slightly at the gentle touch of her husband's hand.  He stood and walked up behind her.  Leaning over, Marx kissed the nape of her neck, while his hands snaked around and cupped her lace-covered breasts.

------

MPAA Advisory: _Due to the explicit nature of the following gratuitous sex scenes, they have been cut, and may be available in a future Director's Cut_

------

The couple lay in bed, still entwined from their lovemaking.  Marx's arms held his wife almost protectively, his one hand on Ranma's belly.  "Chris," she asked, "do you still want me to go to my mother?"

"Ranma," he murmured, "I want you to do what ever is necessary to get your mother to end this rift between the two of you."  He smiled, although his wife was unable to see it.  "I just felt our child kick."

"You should feel it from this side, _anata_.  He's definitely a ran ma."  She said, playing on her unchanged birth name.  "I almost wish we could name him that."

"I'm sure you do, but I'd find it confusing to introduce you and my son as 'Ranma'.  Especially trying to explain it to my new squadron commander.  Most military types highly discount even the existence of magic."

"I'm glad you didn't find it too hard to believe, Chris."

"I was brought up to have an open mind."

"I know you were.  Your parents haven't even met me yet, and they already don't have a problem with me.  I'm just a little concerned that when they meet the real me, they might not like me."

Her husband kissed the back of her neck.  "We'll come to that bridge when we get there, my love."


	10. Chapter IX

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer

The Marxs stood in the Misawa train station waiting for the express to Minato-ku.  Even though she wouldn't admit it, Ranma was a bit of a nervous wreck.  Her last meeting with her mother didn't go over very well; in fact it had her kicked out of the Saotome clan.  Marx stood next to her, his arm around her shoulder for support.  He had managed to wrangle a few days of leave before deploying, and was going to use this time to, hopefully, get to know his mother-in-law.

A travel-worn individual wearing a rather large backpack with an umbrella strapped to the top walked by the couple.  "When I find you Ranma, I'll make you pay for running out on our man-to-man fight.  I've seen Hell because of you," he muttered.

Marx looked at his wife, shock, surprise, and recognition evident on her face.  "Is there something I should know," he asked, as the bandana-clad individual walked further on, and was asking for directions to Tokyo.

The redheaded martial artist relaxed as her old junior-high school foe wandered off in a completely opposite direction from the one he was given.  "I think I recognized him.  Pops had me wandering for so long, I never really made any friends, except for Ucchan.  But when we'd stop for any extended amount of time, Pops would enroll me in the local school, so that I wouldn't get in trouble with the local truancy officers.

"One time, Oyaji enrolled me in an all-boys school, since that was the only school in town.  Fights would break out at lunchtime over the last edible bread served in the cafeteria.  My first day, I used this one kid's head as a spring board to snatch the last curry bread of the day…(No, I'm not doing the full flashback.  I recommend Vol. 1 of the manga if you want to read it.)…So I waited for three days at the appointed challenge spot, which was only a couple of hundred meters from his house; but he never showed up, and Pops knocked me out to drag me of to who knew where, although I think it was Bangkok next."

Marx sat there, and incredulous look on his face.  "There's no way someone's sense of direction can be that bad."

Ranma smiled.  "His was.  I had to lead him to and from school every day.  Supposedly, he could get lost in a room with one door.  I don't know what happened to him after Pops dragged me away."

Marx hugged his young wife.  "You know I'd let nothing happen to you.  I'd die to protect you."

"I know you would, and for that I'm eternally grateful that I found you…" Ranma was about to continue, but was interrupted when the train to Minato was announced.  "Chris, do you still want to go through with this?  Trying to patch things up with my mother?"

Marx sighed.  "I'd like to, but if you don't want to, I'll understand."

Ranma kissed her husband gently on the cheek.  "I want to get this over with.  I just hope Mom will be a little more understanding, especially now," she said, rubbing her swollen belly.  As they stood, the couple walked arm in arm to the train, ignoring the looks of the locals.  Their unborn child decided that he didn't like being ignored, and to show his displeasure kicked his mother…hard.

Wincing in pain, Ranma looked at her belly.  "Behave, little one.  Otherwise Mommy will take you on a ten year training trip and put _you_ through all the same things your grandfather did to your mother."

As they took their seats on the shinkansen, Marx looked at his wife.  "You wouldn't, would you?"

Ranma gave her husband a sheepish grin.  "Of course not.  But it's the threat that worked.  The baby calmed down."  

With an almost imperceptible motion, other than the slight building of g-forces, the bullet train began to pull away from the station and accelerate to its cruising speed of 200mph.  The redheaded martial artist looked at her husband's white knuckled grip on the chair.  "Anything wrong, Chris?"

"N-no.  Its just that I feel like we're flying."

Ranma chuckled.  "Technically, we are."  She smiled at her husband, and took his hand.  "I forgot you're a pilot, and you don't trust another pilot's flying skills.  Don't worry.  We're on rails, not wings."

Marx just nodded, deciding to grin and bear it.

  
------

The train pulled into Minato station on time.  Amid the rush of passengers and commuters, the Marxs found themselves whisked along in the flood of humanity.  "How are we going to find your mother," Marx asked.

Ranma flinched slightly.  "She looks like an older version of…well, me."

The crowds parted, and standing there, waiting for them was Ranma's mother.  Although her hair was more auburn than fiery red, she was a spitting image of her daughter.  "Marx-san," she said, questioningly.  It was kind of hard for Nodoka to miss the husband of her son-turned-daughter, since he was wearing his Class-B uniform and leather flight jacket.

Marx bowed formally, almost as low as one would for royalty, at his mother-in-law.  "Hai, Saotome-san."

Ranma in turn bowed at her mother.  "Okasan."  

Her mother returned both bows, and turned her attention back to the American Air Force officer.  "You made the request for this meeting.  And I granted it."

"Okasan," Ranma said, "Before we begin, can we find someplace where we can at least sit?"  Nodoka offered her apologies, and the three moved into the lounge.  At that hour, bar was empty, allowing the mother and soon-to-be mother a chance to talk in private.  

Marx sat his wife down, then sat next to her, taking her hand in his.  "You've been there for me, now it's my turn," he said quietly.  Ranma squeezed her husband's hand before beginning.

"Okasan, I know that our family has always been honorable; that sofu Sakai was raised to be and fought in the air as a samurai.  Our family would choose death before dishonor under the code of _bushido_.  But I ask you this, is what my father did during my training any more honorable than me wanting to stay alive; to experience life to it's fullest?"

"The last time we met, Ranma, you never described your training that underwent with your father."

Ranma sighed.  "Where should I begin?  I might as well begin with the Neko-Ken."  Once again, Ranma began her tale of woe.  As she described the Neko-ken, Nodoka began to feel queasy.  Descriptions of other training techniques that Genma put his former son through had the Saotome matriarch pale at the physical and mental torture Ranma went through.  Broken friendships, the hardships of the road for ten long years, the idea of theft as training that Ranma went through darkened her mother's features.

The trials after Jusenkyo, and the friendships that Ranma made amongst the Joketsuzoku realized that there was still much honor and an inner strength in her daughter.  Ranma described to her mother how she felt when she was disowned, the journey of self-discovery through Japan, and how many times she came close to being raped.  Tears came to Ranma's eyes as she told Nodoka of how her resolve was worn thin, of how close the redheaded martial artist was to becoming another member of the homeless killed by the elements, until her rescue by her husband.  

Marx tagged teamed his mother-in-law at this point, allowing Ranma to take a sip of water, and to rest her voice.  The Air Force officer told Nodoka of how he found Ranma, then nursed her back to health.  The fact that he fell in love with this cursed woman the moment he saw her, how that love deepened regardless of her past gender.  Marx explained the difficulties of getting new sets of identity papers, because she was clanless, after the marriage and the favor that was called to by someone in the prefecture government.  

The couple spoke in turns of the trials that Ranma faced in the school with perverts, the friends she made, the difficulties of being a fighter pilot's wife.  They mentioned the fact that Ranma was training her husband in the family Art, and how that first training session resulted in her pregnancy.  Her abduction by Genma and subsequent rescue by special operations teams made the head of the clan think about her husband's actions and two-faced ideas of honor.

Nodoka, the stoic matriarch that wanted her daughter to cleanse the honor of the Saotome name with her death, was so moved that she reached across the table and grasped her daughter's hands.  "R-Ranma, I never knew how far your father would go to train you.  I should never have let that…man take you away from me.  But at the same time I am glad that he did, and although I can't say that his choice of a final training ground was appropriate, it allowed you to meet someone who truly loves you.  I just feared that Genma might do something else."  Nodoka sighed.  "He signed a pledge to his friend and training partner Soun Tendo that the two schools of Musabetsu Kakutou be joined in marriage."

Ranma snorted.  "I doubt it.  The last time I saw my…father," she said with a sneer, "he was handcuffed and awaiting to be taken back to the mainland.  The police that helped rescue me told me on the flight off the ship that Genma had so many warrants for his arrest that the countries that filed the warrants will be trying to figure out which one gets him first."

Nodoka chuckled.  "Its just that I'm glad that you are married.  I'd hate to see you married to Soun's youngest daughter.  She has a bit of a temper problem.  Of course, her middle sister eggs her on, and that, in turn fuels her displeasure at most people.  Perhaps the schools can be united in a future generation.

"If your grandfather were alive today, he'd be proud of you, daughter."  She smiled at her son-in-law.  "Particularly at catching a fighter pilot.

"You managed to come through the ordeals that apparently your father called training with your honor intact.  You have proven yourself a worthy member of the Saotome clan, much more so than your father ever did.  I will have you restored to the family register."  Nodoka smiled at her daughter.  "I will be proud to have you as my daughter.

"I do have a question.  If you were permanently cursed by falling into a spring at Jusenkyo, what happens when your father get hits with cold water?"

Ranma laughed.  "He turns into a panda.  So appropriate for that lazy old fool."

Her mother also laughed.  Nodoka was quite able to see her incarcerated husband as a panda.  Her expression turned serious when she looked at her daughter.  Ranma noted it, and grasped her husband's hand tighter.  "Ranma, I have to ask.  I know you can no longer be a 'man amongst men', but will you be a 'woman amongst women'?"

Placing her free hand on her belly, Ranma looked at her mother.  "Okasan, I will not be a paragon of virtue or a 'woman amongst women' or any such outdated notions.  It is the 21st Century, and I am trying to be a modern woman.

"Yes, I was raised as a martial artist.  Yes, I may decide to become a physical education teacher, because of my love for the Art and a desire to pass it on.  But I can be only the person I am, and the best role model I can try to be for my children.  That is all that can be asked of me."

Nodoka nodded dejectedly.  "I understand, my daughter.  I had hopes…but I realize now that our family is living in a past that is a historical study for secondary school students.  I respect your determination to be your own woman, as my own father did when I fell in love with Genma."  She looked at Marx.  "Christopher-kun, treat my daughter well, and love her as if she had been born a girl.  Respect her wishes and her skills.  Be mindful of her desires, but do not let her be demanding.  And most of all, please, call me 'Mother'."

Marx cleared his throat.  "Okasan, I will respect my wife, and love her as I love life itself.  I fell in love with her the moment I saw her, even before she told me about her curse.  And, yes we may have our disagreements, but we understand that they will happen.  I have already told Ranma that I would give my very life to protect hers.  My parents raised me in the tradition of western chivalry, and I would never strike her, unless it was during a sparring session."

Nodoka nodded at her son-in-law's comments.  "Very good, Christopher-kun.  I'm glad that you feel so strongly for my daughter, and were raised to honor women."  She smiled at the amerikajin holding hands with her daughter.  "Welcome to the Saotome Clan."

"Thank you, Okasan."  Marx said, nodding his head to his mother-in-law.


	11. Chapter X

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer

Ranma sat in the parking lot of her husband's fighter squadron, the jeep's engine idling as her husband pulled out his flight bags from the back of the vehicle.  "How long are you going to be gone again?"

"About a week," her husband answered.  "That's if we don't get knocked out in the early parts of the competition."  Marx set his bags on the pavement.  "Will you be alright while I'm gone?"

Ranma climbed out of the jeep and hugged her husband.  "I'll miss you, but I'll be fine.  Mom's going to come up from Minato and keep me company.  I've already arranged for a temporary ID for her from the Security Forces."

Marx smiled at his young wife.  He could smell the herbal shampoo she used on her hair, and breathed deep of her scent to remind him of her while in Nevada.  "At least you won't be lonely while I'm gone.  Your mother does know that she can't carry her katana around on base, right?"

"Hai.  I told Okasan that and she has no problem leaving it at the house."

"Good.  Knowing how your mother can get, I thought she might have a problem with the base weapons policy…"

"Hey Scooter," Marx's wingman for the mission called, "time's a wasting."

"Yeah, yeah, I know Doc.  I'll be in in just a minute."

The redheaded mother-to-be felt impulsive and pulled her husband into a passionate kiss right there in the parking lot in front of the squadron.  Marx didn't care about the ragging he'd get in the briefing and up in the air.  For him, it felt right.  He was going to be gone for a week, trying to compete against the finest fighter pilots in the Air Force.  

MAJ. Wegner noticed this from the window of his office, and pulled the half of the squadron that was deploying outside.  He placed them in a half-circle around the couple and, on the count of three; the fighter pilots all went "Aw, how cute!"

The couple broke their kiss and Ranma could feel her cheeks burning.  Marx fixed the detachment commander a look.  The squadron operations officer chuckled.  "I'll call when we get to Nellis.  Take care of yourself," Marx said

Ranma hugged her husband.  "I will.  Hopefully, there won't be any need to call you back," she said, referring to their child growing in her belly.  Six, almost seven months in the womb, and she could have known the sex of her child, but Ranma wanted it to be a surprise.

Marx gave his wife one more hug, before picking up his bags and walking into the squadron building.  Ranma sat back in the jeep, getting as comfortable as she could on the original spring and thin cushioned seats.  As her husband and his crew were getting briefed and preflighting their fighters, she began to nap.  Ranma woke not to long after her husband got out of bed for this predawn departure, so she was still tired.

The roar of twelve Pratt and Whitney F119 turbofan engines lighting off woke the slumbering martial artist.  Walking past the squadron building, Ranma watched as the fighters began taxiing from their hardened shelters.  She chuckled aloud when she saw her husband's fighter, made obvious by the prancing Ferrari pony under the cockpit sill, a reference not only to his wife's name but also his status as a "mustang" officer—an officer who started his career out in the enlisted ranks.  She continued to watch as the fighters did their "baby elephant march" as they taxied one behind the other to the runway.  With an angry roar, the first pair of fighters were cleared on to the runway and streaked down it, pulling up halfway.  Her husband's was the lead of the last pair, and as he sucked up his landing gear, he waggled his wings for her, before disappearing into the rising sun.  Smiling at the last cloud of exhaust, Ranma said quietly "_Banzai_, _anata_.  May grandfather's spirit watch over you, and grant you the same success he had."  She walked back to the jeep, knowing she had time, since her mother's train wouldn't be arriving until one.

  
------

With room assignment in hand, Marx made his way to his room in the Visiting Officer Quarters at Nellis.  As much as the new Dart maintained the gentlemanly qualities of its older, long since retired, siblings, a nine hour flight was still not fun in the confines of a tactical fighter.  Particularly when you woke up with six cups of coffee and your "piddle pack"—a Ziploc bag with a sponge in it—was supersaturated, and you still had to go.  In a way, Marx felt sorry for his ground crew, since he took a lesson from the Alan Shepard Book of Space Flight, and wet his diapers.  His crew was responsible for maintaining the aircraft, inside and out, and more likely than not, the most junior member of the ground crew was made to clean Marx's ejection seat.  The former enlisted man planned on making it up to his crew by supplying them with a couple of cases of beer that night.

Entering his room, he was reminded of staying in a decent mid-grade hotel.  He threw his bags on the bed, and dialed out to his home in Japan.  "_Moshe, moshe Marx-ke_," he heard his mother-in-law answer.  He chuckled, since anyone calling would be thrown for a loop right now, except for his crew chief's family.

"Konbanwa, Okasan," he said.  "Is Ranma there?"

"_Hai, Christopher-kun.  One moment._"  He heard his mother set the phone down and call his wife.

"_Hi Chris,_" she said, as she picked up the receiver.  "_How was the flight?_"

"Eight hours too long.  Next time, not so much coffee, ok?"

Ranma chuckled on the other end of the line.  Already Marx was missing his young wife.  "_Ok.  Mom's settling in.  I took her grocery shopping, and she's told me to relax, and enjoy my holiday.  Although I think she means to hook me up with some young guy she knows back in Minato._"

"Ha ha.  I don't want to run up the phone bill, so I'll call back tomorrow, later.  Ok?"

"_Ok.  I love you Chris.  Take care._"

"I will.  I love you too.  Good night."  He hung up the phone, and unpacked.  Marx was going to be here awhile, so it wouldn't do to live out of a bag like he was still in the Army.

  
*          *            *

Ranma was helping her mother clean the house…well more like watching her mother clean the house.  Nodoka refused to let her pregnant daughter do anything more than the least stressful beginners katas of Musabetsu Kakutou or cook.  As much as she loved her mother, it wasn't worth the aggravation of telling her mother what she was and wasn't able to do.  After all, she did survive almost 10 years on the road with her father's cruel and unusual training methods.  She was just getting up to go get a drink of water when there was a knock at the door.

Hesitant, because it didn't sound like _the_ knock, but it was still an _unexpected_ knock at the door, Ranma answered it.  "May I help you?"

"Mrs. Marx?"  Ranma nodded.  "My name is David Goldman.  I'm with the Red Cross office here on base.  Is your husband home?"

"He's at Nellis, Mr. Goldman.  Is there anything I can do for you?"

It was then that she noticed Col. Bell standing next to the Red Cross representative.  "Ranma, the Red Cross received notification that your father-in-law is in the hospital.  It's not good news.  I don't know if Chris told you, but his father has incurable prostate cancer, and it's metastasized out of the lymph nodes.  Your mother-in-law thought it important enough to send out a Red Cross notification."

The redheaded martial artist paled at the news of her father-in-law.  The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour.  She allowed them in, and seated them in the living room.  In rapid fire Japanese, she asked her mother to bring refreshments.  As Nodoka went into the kitchen, she looked at the two sitting across from her…next to the rocking horse her father-in-law handmade when Marx told his parents first that he was married again, leaving out certain details, and secondly his new wife was pregnant.  "Did Ginny," she felt weird using her mother-in-law's name in front of strangers, "list how bad John is?"

Goldman shook his head.  "Mrs. Marx does not.  She just requests that her son and daughter-in-law come home as soon as possible."

"Ranma," Col. Bell said, "I have orders for you for the next flight to the United States.  And, even though General Leonard doesn't like our squadron, he's endorsed you to the head of the list.  There's a KC-10 heading home this afternoon for McGuire.  It's just like a civilian airliner, just without a lot of the amenities.

"Chris will meet you there.  I faxed his orders separating him from the exercises at Nellis, and take his fighter to where you'll be landing.  Both your return orders are open ended."  Bell stood, followed by Goldman.  "Ranma, I hope that this is nothing, but…" His voice trailed off, as he placed a hand on the teenage mother's shoulder.

"Colonel, thank you.  I hope so too."   
  
------

There was a knock on the door to Marx's quarters.  Followed by a more persistent knock.  Followed by keys jangling in the lock, and the door opening.  Followed by the light to the room flipping on.  Blinking, Marx woke up.  "Wha…what time is it?"

"It's quarter after 12 in the morning, Captain.  New orders for you have just come in from Japan."  That got Marx's attention, clearing any thoughts of going back to sleep when Fuzz left.  "You need to head home as soon as possible."

He took the barest moment to process the information.  "Did something happen to Ranma?"

MAJ. Wegner chuckled.  "No, Captain.  Ranma is fine.  Your mother sent out a Red Cross notification to the base.  Your father's in the hospital.  His cancer's come back with a vengeance."

"Kuso," he muttered under his breath.

"I'm having your ground crew rousted to get your fighter prepped.  Base Operations is filing your flightplan to McGuire."

"Wait a second.  I'm flying to McGuire?"

Fuzz nodded.  "You'll meet your wife there.  She's going to be on a KC-10 from Misawa.  I want you wheels up in forty five minutes."

Marx nodded and started pulling on his flightsuit.  "Understood sir.  And when do these emergency orders end?"

"The CO left them open-ended.  But don't stay away too long."

"Roger that, sir," he said as he started throwing his clothes back into his bag.  He paused and wrote down the keycode to the classified safe.  "Here's the code to the classified safe, Major.  All classifieds were accounted for as of this afternoon."

Fuzz nodded.  "Fly safe, Captain.  And I hope your father is alright."

"Thank you sir."

  
------

The flight to McGuire was uneventful for the fighter pilot, other than fighting to stay awake.  Of course the summer dawn coming right into the cockpit was a helpful distraction for the middle-aged fighter pilot.  He touched down at New Jersey's only active air force base and taxied to a parking area.  Once the wheels were chocked and secured, Marx left his fighter to the tender mercies of the McGuire ground crews and walked into the terminal.  "Excuse me Airman, but when is the KC-10 coming in from Misawa?"

"1230 sir."

Thanks.  Is there anyplace I can crash for a while until it arrives, like a crew lounge?"

"No sir, unless you want to get a room at the Falcon Lodge."

Marx shook his head.  "No thanks.  I'm only waiting for someone on that flight."  He went over to the base auto rental, and signed for basic transportation before snagging a comfortable looking chair next to a wall.  Settling in, Marx closed his eyes.

When the relief for the airman behind the reception desk showed up at eight, she looked at Marx sleeping in the chair.  "How long has he been here?"

"Since about quarter to six.  He's waiting for someone on the KC-10 that's coming in from Misawa."

"So who's coming in?"

The off-going airman looked at the passenger manifest.  "Only one passenger.  A 'Ranma Marx' flying in on emergency orders."

"So I guess that would be their sponsor"

"Yeah, one 'Captain Christopher Marx, 14th Fighter Squadron.'  He flew in from Nellis separately."

"Thanks.  Get some sleep."

He felt a tapping on his shoulder.  Slowly, Marx blinked himself awake, and found himself looking into the loveliest pair of blue eyes he'd seen in a while.  "Been waiting long?"  His wife asked, the barest hint of a smile on her face.

Still not fully awake yet, Marx ran his hand along his face.  "Um, well, yeah.  How was the flight?"  Marx stood and stretched with a loud series of pops.  He grabbed his wife's bags and led her out to the rental car.

"Long," she sighed.  "Although it was kind of interesting.  I got to watch us refuel in midair from another tanker, and the pilot turned the controls over to me for a couple of hours, while he relieved the copilot.  Compared to your plane, that tanker was slow and sluggish."

Marx chuckled as he put her bags in the trunk, while Ranma climbed in.  He got in, and started up the Chevy sedan.  "Well, one's a modified airliner, the other's purpose built to be fast and maneuverable."  He pulled on to the main road to the gates and left the base.

The ride up to Marx's parents' house in northern New Jersey was quiet, with just the music from a classic rock station out of Manhattan.  Neither knew what to expect when they pulled up to the house that Marx grew up in.

Anticipating the worst, Marx made the left on to the street he grew up on.  A flood of memories came back to him as he parked the car on the gravel driveway.  Memories of playing with neighborhood kids long since grown up and moved away; watching the members of the long-since disbanded 104th Engineering Battalion, NJ Army Guard, replace the footbridge over the brook that cut the street in half; sledding down the hill on snow days, before the plows showed up; his first days of kindergarten, junior high, and high school; the prom he didn't really want to go to, but went anyway.  His going away to Tobyhanna Army Depot and getting qualified in his job in the National Guard and finding out that his father put a koi pond in the backyard in four weeks.

Ranma saw the distant look in her husband's eyes and placed her hand on his arm.  That seemed to pull him out of his reverie.  "Are you all right, Chris," she asked, concern in her voice.

"I was just remembering growing up here.  Some good memories, some bad.  I'll be fine—let's go meet the parents."

Walking into the backyard, the greetings from his mother and sister, as well from the nephews and niece, were subdued.  The face-to-face meetings between his family and wife were a little more enthusiastic.  After settling Ranma into one of the Adirondack chairs on the deck, and fixing her an iced tea, Marx settled down in the other chair next to hers.  "How's Dad?"

"He's not well.  The cancer came back with a vengeance and has, according to his doctor, totally ravaged his system," his mother said.  "Your father's only been given a few days left; that's how bad it is."

Marx sat back in the chair.  "Damn," he muttered.  "Where is he?"

"Pascack Valley Hospital—in their hospice unit."

Marx slid out of the chair and stood.  "I'm going to go visit him."

Ranma nodded.  "I'll go with you later, or I'll have Ginny or Kristen drive me there."  Marx kissed his wife gently on the forehead and left her to talk with his family.

When Ranma got to the hospital, she noticed her husband sitting on a bench in the unit, his eyes were wet with unshed tears.  "He's resting right now.  Doctor's orders."

"What's wrong?"

"He was…is, a powerful man.  Not in terms of strength, but in personality and presence.  It hurts to see him lying in bed like this."

"I know.  I know," Ranma murmured, as she pulled her husband to her, and held him.  The emotional barriers finally broke, and Marx's tears began flowing freely.  Sure he had an on again/off again relationship with his parents, but that was his father lying in the hospital dying.  And like he did for Ranma eight months ago, Ranma held her husband as his emotions found their outlet and forced their way to the surface.  She just held him tight, rubbing his back, listening to his choked sobs as he cried out several years' worth of emotions.


	12. F106G Fact File

F-106G Delta Dart Mission 

The F-106G is an all weather maneuverable tactical fighter designed to permit the Air Force to defend installations and the CONUS at the farthest point possible, and achieve and maintain air superiority in aerial combat.

Features 

The Delta Dart's air superiority is achieved through a mixture of maneuverability and acceleration, range, weapons and avionics. It can penetrate enemy defense and outperform and outfight any current enemy aircraft. The F-106G has electronic systems and weaponry to detect, acquire, track and attack enemy aircraft while operating in friendly or enemy-controlled airspace. The weapons and flight control systems are designed so that one person can safely and effectively perform air-to-air combat.

The F-106G's superior maneuverability and acceleration are achieved through high engine thrust-to-weight ratio, a "cranked arrow" double delta wing structure, and low wing loading. Low wing loading (the ratio of aircraft weight to its wing area) is a vital factor in maneuverability and, combined with the high thrust-to-weight ratio, enables the aircraft to turn tightly without losing airspeed. The "cranked arrow" double delta was first tested on the F-16XL and increases the maneuverability and payload of the fighter. Additional changes to the fighter, from its predecessor the F-106A/B, include removing the Semi-Automatic Ground Environment engagement system, the internal missile bay, and trapeze mounts.

The multimission avionics system places the F-106G in the same class as the F-15 Eagle in terms of combat capabilities and pilot workload. It includes a head-up display, advanced radar, inertial navigation system, flight instruments, very high and ultrahigh frequency communications, tactical navigation system and instrument landing system. It also has an internally mounted, tactical electronic-warfare system, "identification friend or foe" system, electronic countermeasures set and the new Boeing Advanced Display Core Processor.

The wide field-of-view heads-up display projects on the windscreen all essential flight information gathered by the integrated avionics system. This display, visible in any light condition, provides the pilot information necessary to track and destroy an enemy aircraft without having to look down at cockpit instruments. Four Multi-Function Displays have replaced the traditional F-106 instrumentation, reducing pilot workload. The Joint Helmet-Mounted Cueing System, or JHMCS, will augment those displays.

The lightweight JHMCS allows its user to aim weapons, radar and sensors by looking at a target and pressing a switch, making it unnecessary to maneuver the aircraft into line with the target. With JHMCS, targeting information and data, such as airspeed and altitude, are projected onto the pilot's visor so they are in view at all times. JHMCS allows the user to remain completely focused on what's happening around the aircraft.

The F-106G's advanced AN/APG-63(v)1 radar system can look up at high-flying targets and down at low-flying targets without being confused by ground clutter. It can detect and track aircraft and small high-speed targets at distances beyond visual range down to close range, and at altitudes down to treetop level. The radar feeds target information into the central computer for effective weapons delivery. For close-in dogfights, the radar automatically acquires enemy aircraft, and this information is projected on the head-up display. The advanced Lockheed-Martin ALR-56C(v)1 electronic warfare system and Northrop Grumman's improved ALQ-135M self-protection system provides both threat warning and automatic countermeasures against selected threats. A Northrop Grumman video camera mounted next to the nose gear wheel well provides long-range identification of targets.

A variety of air-to-air weaponry can be carried by the F-106G. An automated weapon system enables the pilot to perform aerial combat safely and effectively, using the head-up display in conjunction with the JHMCS and the avionics and weapons controls located on the engine throttle or control stick. When the pilot changes from one weapon system to another, visual guidance for the required weapon automatically appears on the head-up display.

The Delta Dart can be armed with combinations of four different air-to-air weapons: AIM-7F/M Sparrow missiles, AIM-9L/M Sidewinder or AIM-120 missiles on pylons under the wings, and two additional AIM-9L/M Sidewinder or AIM-120 missiles on wingtip pylons, and an internal 20mm Gatling gun under the cockpit.

Background 

The original F-106A had its first flight on December 26, 1956, entered service with the United States Air Force in July, 1960, and was retired from service in August of 1988. The F-106G entered service on 4 July, 2000.

However, with the cancellation of the Raptor air superiority fighter program in early 1999, the Air Force was required to find an additional fighter to augment the F-15/F-16 fighters on alert.

The General Dynamics Division of Lockheed Martin had dusted off blueprints of the F-106E/F fighters and, using lessons learned from the F-16XL and F-22, redesigned the Delta Dart, to include a cranked-arrow double delta with wingtip pylons, 21st Century avionics, advanced afterburning turbofan engine, and modified bubble canopy when the YF-22 Raptor began testing as a feasibility study. When the YF-22 was canceled, General Dynamics had a prototype ready to role out. Testing and acceptance was accomplished in less than a year, with the first squadrons equipped at Luke AFB with F106H trainers.

The F-106H is the two-seat trainer version of the F-106G, and retains all the combat capabilities of the single-seat version.

General Characteristics 

Primary Function: Tactical Fighter

Contractor: General Dynamics

Power Plant: Pratt & Whitney F119

Thrust: 35,000 lbs

Wingspan: 48'0"

Length: 70.75 feet (21.56 meters)

Height: 20.33 feet (6.2 meters)

Speed: 2,000 mph (Mach 2.6 plus)

Ceiling: 68,000 feet (20,726 meters)

Range: Classified

Crew: F-106G: 1; F-106H: 2

Armament: One internally mounted M-61A1 20mm, six-barrel cannon with 940 rounds of ammunition; six AIM-9L/M Sidewinder and four AIM-7F/M Sparrow air-to-air missiles, or ten AIM-120 AMRAAMs, carried externally.

Date Deployed: 4 July 2000

Inventory: Active Force: 300; Reserves: 0; ANG: 100


	13. Chapter XI

Standard Disclaimer:  See Chapter 1 for the Disclaimer.

Marx's eyes shot open.  He always had a problem with sleeping too lightly someplace new.  And even though he was in his childhood home, he hadn't been there for the better part of six years.  His eyes scanned the dark room, taking stock of where he was.  _There's the family room ceiling.  I'm home.  But where's Ranma._   He could hear an odd dialect of Mandarin being spoken quietly by Ranma on the phone.  There was a click as the phone was set back in the receiver.

Ranma climbed back into bed, and snuggled up next to her husband.  "I'm sorry, my love."

"Why," Marx asked quietly.

"I just spoke to Balm, my old mentor from that Amazon village I spent close to a year in."

"Oh, and how is she?"

"She's fine.  Pregnant again with their third child."

"I'd like to meet your surrogate family sometime.  But with the way the PRC is, it'd probably be sometime.

"So what did you need to ask Balm about?"

"I…I wanted to know about the effectiveness of Jusenkyo as a cure for cancer."

Marx sat up at that.  "What did she say?"

Ranma sighed.  "She told me that the inherent magical properties of the Springs could be a cure for cancer, but only in the early stages of the disease."

Marx sighed.  "I see."  When his father was diagnosed a few years ago, it was already too late for him—M Stage prostate cancer.  Medication kept it under control, but it came back with a pure vengeance.

"I'm sorry…" Ranma was about to apologize, when Marx placed his fingers over her mouth.  "You tried," he said.  "Modern medicine tried.  But…I've come to accept that when it's time to go, no amount of kicking and screaming is going to prevent it."  He ran his hand along his wife's swollen belly.  "Sure, I'd love for my father to meet his grandson or –daughter, but I grew up not knowing my mother's father.  And we lost Dad's mom when I was just starting high school."

"Yeah, but my father's in jail," Ranma said sarcastically.

"It's his fault that he kidnapped you, love.  But I'm glad he was caught.  I'd hate to think of you being railroaded into another marriage."

"No, I just got railroaded into a different marriage," Ranma teased, as she playfully kissed her husband.  "But I'm glad you found me, and offered me the opportunity that you gave me."

Marx closed his wife's eyes.  "Get some sleep.  I have the feeling that it's going to be a long day tomorrow."

The next time Marx cracked open his eyes, Ranma was curled up next to him, snoring away.  This time, it was the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway that woke him as a car pulled out and headed up the street.  Deciding sleep was far from his mind, Marx threw a t-shirt and shorts on and headed outside.  The backyard was, in the middle aged captain's mind, always peaceful—a refuge from the insanity of the outside world.  As he grew up in this yard, it became even more so, especially when the pond was added.

He sank down, a little less than gracefully, into a lotus position, and cleared his mind.  As Ranma taught her husband the family school, she took a different approach than her good for nothing father.  Instead of showing him once, and berating him if he didn't, Ranma showed Marx that meditation first to clear the mind of distractions, was a method of learning the Art.  

The bubbling of the waterfall, the occasional splash as one of the koi broke the surface of the pond, the chirp of a bird all focused his meditations.  Slowly he rose up, and began the very first kata his wife had shown him.  He performed it slowly, not for any lack of familiarity, but to focus his attention away from distractions.  As he shifted into the next kata seamlessly, he began to pick up the pace and increased his tempo.

Ranma had, by this time, come outside, and was going through her own warm up katas.  At some unknown signal, the couple began to spar, gentle pokes replacing full body hits, especially when Marx managed to sneak through his wife's defenses.  The spar lasted a full ten minutes of Marx on the defensive; before his wife got a good, yet short, kick in.

Marx sat up in the deep end of the pond.  "What did you do that for?"  Ranma smiled cutely at him.  "Uncute tomboy," he muttered.

"It was just such a perfect opportunity," she said, as she helped him out of the pond.  "Besides, the last time I knocked someone into water was in China."  There was a big grin, as she remembered knocking Xian Pu into the village water supply while they sparred.

Her husband rolled his eyes at her.  "Remind me not to take you down the street to the brook.  I'm going to go take a shower."

"Can I join you?"  Ranma asked brightly.

"Well…" Marx flipped his wife into the pond.  "Now you can."

"That wasn't nice," she said.  "Perverted jerk."

He helped her out of the pond.  "Pervert, I am.  Jerk, I'm not."

They headed inside to get cleaned up, leaving a trail of water from the pond.

"Chris!"  He heard his mother call several times, as the hot water in the shower pulsed between to couple.

Marx sighed, and climbed out of the shower, throwing his robe on, and headed downstairs.  "Yeah, what's up?"  He asked, before he noticed the tear streaked eyes on his mother's face.  "What happened?"  His tone changed significantly.

"Your father…died last night," she said with as much composure as she could maintain.  Son pulled mother into a hug, as they shared the same feeling of pain.  "His last words to the nurse were 'I want to go home.'"

"I'm sorry, Mom.  I wish there was something that I could have done."

"I know.  I know," she replied.

  
-------

The days following the death of his father were hard for Marx and his family.  Funeral arrangements were finalized; family members were flying in from all parts of the country.  Ranma began feeling some pain in her abdomen, but thought it was their child just sensing the tension in the air, and "sparring" with her stomach.

For the family, the day of the funeral was a very somber one; even the weather conspired against them with low clouds, drizzle and cool temperatures. The Captain's grandfather had tears streaming down his cheeks as he said good bye to his eldest son, and for the eldest Marx, and indeed the whole family, this was the second time saying good bye to a father, an uncle, a brother, a son, and now a grandfather.

Marx stood at the gravesite, his Class-A uniform getting spotted by the rain, with his arm around his wife, as the minister said a few words before concluding the ceremony.  The emotions they were sharing were indescribable feelings of loss, Marx for the father he'd known, and Ranma for the father in law that treated her like a daughter.  The couple stayed there, for a while after the family began to walk back to their cars.  

As they walked back to the rental, Ranma felt a sudden sharp stabbing pain.  Marx looked at his wife grimacing in pain.  "You all right?"

She grimaced again, as another contraction hit her.  "No, I'm not.  I think it's time…" She tightened her grip on her husband's arm.  "And we're early, too."

"We're not far from a hospital.  Do you want to go?"

She nodded.  "I think my water broke."  Marx inwardly grimaced as they got into the car.  The hospital in question was quite literally up the road, but since the street was a one way, and they were already past the hospital, they had to take a five minute drive around the block to get back to the emergency room.

As Ranma was being rushed up to the labor and delivery suite, her husband was being buried under an avalanche of admissions paperwork, which got deeper as the military admissions forms were dusted off.

Finally released from Admitting, Marx rushed up to the delivery room, two or three steps at a time.  The clerk at the nurse's station directed him to the room, but he really didn't need her help.  Her mezzo-soprano voice could be heard down the hall, cursing her father, her husband, Jusenkyo in Japanese; all in one loud sentence that she repeated.  Concerned as he was for his wife and child, Marx couldn't help but chuckle at how the voice that had so teased and seduced him at various times sounded worse than a sailor right now.

Taking her slim hand, he placed his hand on her head.  "Just relax, and let the doctors do their job," he told her in quiet Japanese

"Relax?"  She bellowed in the same language.  Her comment was cut off by a grunt, as she pushed.  "You did this to me!"  She looked at the doctor, and loudly proclaimed that her husband's parentage was of questionable origins.

The medical staff, used to listening to such abusive behavior, ignored her comments.  One of the nurses looked at Marx, standing there incongruous with a surgical smock covering his Class As.  "First time?"

Marx nodded as another contraction was transmitted from his wife to through her hand to him.  The pain caused him to grimace.  He thought he heard bones cracking as his wife squeezed…hard.  The doctor, looking for all the world like Johnny Bench kneeling behind home plate, announced:  "I see the head.  Just a few more pushes Mrs. Marx."  She complied, sharing the pain with her husband.  "Ok, one shoulder's out.  That's the hard part…" The delivery room was filled with the sound of a baby crying after a few more minutes.  "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Marx.  It's a boy."  The unmistakable snip of scissors was buried under the child's cries.  The doctor placed their child in Ranma's arms.

The couple smiled at the wrinkly bundle in the former Saotome's arms.  A tuft of downy red hair showed he was Ranma's son.  Marx bent down and kissed his wife's forehead.  "Congratulations, Mrs. Marx."

Ranma smiled at her husband.  "Congratulations, Mr. Marx."  She looked down at their son, then back at her husband.  "What's going to happen when September rolls around?  I still have two years of school left, anata."

"We still have a few months to figure it out, my love.  We'll think of something."

"So, what did we decide on?"

"Why not honor your grandfather and my father.  Saburo John Marx."

"I like it," she agreed.  She closed her eyes, as the nurse from the nursery came in and retrieved their son.


	14. Chapter XII

A section of four Delta Darts touched down and taxied to their structures at Morristown AFS. As soon as the wheels were chocked and the powerplant of his fighter was shut down, Marx climbed wearily out of his fighter. "God, I'm getting too old for this," he muttered. An exercise that had been scheduled with VF-84 from NAS Newark was interrupted by some knucklehead in a Beech Bonanza stumbling into restricted airspace, and not following instructions from both the Navy and the Air Force. The results, at least for the pilot of the Bonanza, were not pleasant.

His new crew chief, SrA Rios, chuckled. "You're only as old as you feel, Captain."

"Yeah, I know. Right now, I feel like I'm ninety-four."

"Tough mission, Cap?"

"Yeah, you could say that. Right now, all I want to do is go home, kiss my wife, and go to sleep for a month," Marx replied, as he loosened his parachute harness.

"Oh, sir, Colonel Reed wanted me to remind you that you have your promotion boards in the morning."

Marx nodded as he rubbed his face. His contacts had started bothering him on this flight, so all he wanted to do was put his glasses on then go home and relax. "Thanks, Pete. I'll see you in the morning."

------ 

Five years of marriage had been wonderful to him, Marx reflected, on the drive home from the former municipal airport turned Air Force base. It was ironic, he chuckled mirthlessly, how his life came back full circle. They'd just moved back into the house he put up for rent after his first wife died, and he returned to active duty. The 539th Fighter Squadron had been reactivated as a fighter wing in the wake of the terrorist attacks on September 11th. Even though the Cold War wasn't over by a long shot, air defense for the continental United States was sorely limited. Several Air National Guard units that were part of Air Defense Command were stood down from five minute alert and reorganized to ground attack and anti-shipping roles.

In the months after 9/11, several municipal airports in and around major metropolitan areas were acquired by the Air Force and Navy as forward air defense bases even as old Nike missile sites were being reactivated and equipped with Patriot missile batteries. Marx's reassignment back to his home state wasn't much of a shock to him. Colonel Bell had recommended him for assignment as the 542nd Fighter Squadron's executive officer. All he needed to do was pass his promotion review board, and the position was all but his.

As he pulled into his house, Marx saw his wife was home. Her car was a concession that they needed another car, and something more practical than Marx's antique jeep. So Ranma was driving around in a five-year old Chevy minivan. He grabbed his briefcase out of the back of his jeep and walked into his house. "Taidama," he called, taking his boots off in the entryway.

"Poppa!" Saburo shouted, running up and grabbing his father's leg. Marx reached down and ruffled his son's reddish hair.

"Anata," Ranma purred from the stairs leading to the second floor. "How was your day?"

Picking his son up off his leg, Marx moved into the living room and flopped on to the couch dramatically. "Long. The guys from VF-84 gave quite a licking. And a few other things that happened today proved that Murphy was around.

"So, how was your day?"

Ranma had curled up next to her husband. "Not quite as exciting as yours was, I'm sure. One of my professors didn't like my paper on Bushido. But this guy's a real jerk. He wouldn't know Japanese history if it came up and bit him on his…mmph!" Marx took that moment to kiss his still young wife, to keep their young son from hearing a few choice words—not that Saburo didn't hear them when his father was working on his Jeep.

"Ick! Yuck!" Both Ranma and her husband laughed at their son's antics. "I never wanna meet a girl if that's what they do."

The parents of the precocious young boy smiled at their son's antics. "So, what's for dinner?"

"Stir fry," replied Ranma. "I'll go whip it up." The redheaded martial artist kissed her husband before heading into the kitchen.

After the light dinner, Marx headed up to the spare bedroom that they were using as a changing room and walk in closet. He pulled out his dress blues and began looking them over. One of Marx's biggest problems was that he'd been informed that he had his boards a month ago, and promptly forgot about it. But, as a result of informal training he'd received while a member of the Security Forces his first tour in the Air Force, he'd been having his blues dry cleaned with razor sharp creases. His only real concern was with his jacket, and that was really just replacing the badges and ribbons.

As he took a clean cloth to the badges in the case, his son wandered in, in his pajamas. "What'cha doing Dad?"

"I'm cleaning off the badges for my uniform."

"Cool. So what's that one," Saburo asked, pointing to his father's wings.

"Well, they tell everyone that I'm a pilot. And the star on top of the shield means I'm pretty experienced at what I do."

"That's cool. And this one?" Which began a question and answer session between the two Marx boys. With pride, Marx told his son what each badge and ribbon on his jacket. Ranma looked in on her men and smiled.

"Saburo-kun," she called, "it's time for you to go to bed."

"Aw, mom, do I have to?"

Ranma ruffled her son's hair as she chuckled. "Yes little one. Its time and no buts."

With a dejected look on his face, Saburo turned to his father. "Poppa…" His father was no help to the young boy wanting to stay up past his bedtime. "Hai, 'kasan, 'tousan. Good night." Saburo left the changing room for his.

"He'll be asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow," Ranma said. She began moving into the room seductively, stalking him like a lioness stalking her prey.

Marx looked up at his young wife stalking him. He could almost see a tail swishing behind her. "As much as I'd love to tonight, I have to be down at McGuire, reporting in to Wing Headquarters at eight o'clock."

Ranma still managed to drape herself in her husband's lap, her long red hair pooling on the floor. "How come?"

"I have my promotion boards in the morning," he replied. "I'd forgotten about it until Airman Rios reminded me about it this afternoon."

Ranma gave her loving husband that smile that said "Yeah, sure," and Marx inwardly cringed. The last time he'd seen that smile was a year this past December, when he'd been scheduled for alert on their anniversary. He'd made up for it the following weekend by taking her to the Metropolitan Opera for a performance of "Madame Butterfly", followed by dinner at Tavern on the Green. Marx had almost cried when he saw the bill for _that_ meal. Ranma, for her sake, had learned to cut down on her meals, since she wasn't with her father anymore—who, at last report was languishing in a Thai prison cell—but still managed to want three dirty water dogs and two pretzels from street vendors. "Well then," she finally said, "if you're a good boy tomorrow, and have some good news…" She leaned up and whispered in his ear. Such a blush grew on Marx's face that he could have lit up Times Square at midnight in the middle of a major blackout.

------ 

The alarm shrilly pulled Marx out of a sound sleep—and a particularly pleasant dream involving his wife, a can of whipped cream and a jar of cherries. Opening his eyes, he saw his wife's long hair splayed across his chest. He could feel Ranma's head against his chest; her arms wrapped around his body; the steady rise and fall of her chest. "Ohayo, anata," she said, stirring. Marx wasn't the only one woken up by the alarm.

"Ohayo," he replied, as he kissed her gently on her forehead.

She looked at her husband. "What time do you have to be at Wing again?"

"Eight o'clock," he yawned. Marx glanced out the window, at the sky pearling to the east. "At least it'll be a nice day for a drive."

Ranma gave her husband a very good look as she slipped out of bed and stretched before putting her robe on. "I'll get breakfast ready while you shower and get dressed."

Marx nodded, even as he muttered "Kawaii."

"So, you think I still look that good, eh?"

Marx slipped out from under the covers and hugged his wife, nuzzling her neck. "Good enough to eat."

"Not now, or you'll never get out of here on time."

"Okay, okay," he said, and let her go. Marx smiled as she walked with the grace of a martial artist. She was, to his eyes, still as attractive as she was when they first met on that snowy December night. As he showered, the middle aged pilot thought about how his life had turned around for the better. Sure, he'd given up a decent job with the Newark school system as a history teacher after the death of his first wife, but, in retrospect, it was the decision he made.

"Christopher-kun," he heard Ranma call from the kitchen, "breakfast is ready."

Throwing on his BDUs, Marx made his way down to the kitchen. With a puzzled look, Ranma set breakfast down. "I thought you had to be in your blues," she asked, fixing her husband a bowl of miso soup.

"I do," Marx replied. "It's just that for that long a drive, the jeep plays hell with my blues."

"Then why don't you take my car?"

"I would, but I don't know how long I'll be down at McGoo, and Saburo has that doctor's appointment this morning."

Ranma gave her husband a sheepish grin. "You're right. I forget that he was two and a half months early; he's so high functioning."

"He comes from good stock, mainly on his mother's side." Marx chuckled with his wife. "Even the OB/GYN at Branch said he was resilient after that incident with your father." He let any further comment slide when he saw the look Ranma was giving him. "I'd better get going. Who knows what the traffic will be like down by New Brunswick." With a kiss to his wife, he grabbed his briefcase and the garment bag with his dress blues in it, and headed out to his car.

------ 

Marx walked through the New York Air Defense Sector blockhouse to the Wing conference room, with F-106s doing high-G maneuvers in the pit of his stomach. The last time he'd felt this nervous was on his wedding day—either of them. Just today, he didn't have the advantage of a couple of shots of Maker's Mark. Approaching the double solid oak doors, the captain adjusted his jacket one last time, stuck his service cap under his left arm. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. "Enter," came the terse command.

Marx opened the door and marched in. Stopping two paces from the officer of the board, he snapped a salute. "Captain Marx reporting as ordered."

The board president returned the salute. "Be seated, Captain." Marx sat down in the wooden chair next to him. The wing commander, and president of the board, Brigadier General Rodriguez began the proceedings. "Captain, this is your first time before this board, yes?"

"Correct sir."

"Please state name, rank and position, for the record."

"Christopher Orion Marx, Captain, acting Executive Officer 542nd Fighter Squadron."

BG Rodriguez opened the manila folder on the desk in front of him, and began the interview. Questions were asked of Marx about his prior military service records, his education, and prior civilian experience. And the feelers that Marx was getting from the board were giving him a good feeling—until Lt. Hartnet, the wing intelligence officer, began asking his questions. "Captain, your wife is a Japanese national, correct?"

Marx nodded. "Yes, Lieutenant. I noted it on my last security clearance renewal."

"So you did," Hartnet replied. "In the course of the investigation, it was discovered that your wife spent some time in the People's Republic of China. Were you aware of that?"

"I am."

"And do you know why she was there?"

"She and her father were there as part of a ten-year martial arts training trip. She spent about a year there in the hinterlands of the country."

"Are you aware if she met with any representatives with that government?"

"As far as I know, all she met was with the representatives of an autonomous village in the Bayankala mountain range of the Qinghai province."

"Thank you, Captain," Hartnet said. And the way he said it gave the middle aged captain a shiver down his spine. "Just one other thing, Captain. How old was your wife when you met her? You don't need to answer it, if you don't want to."

"She was sixteen," Marx replied, flatly. He never did like the intel officer, and his line of questioning may have torpedoed his chance for promotion, if not the rest of his career.

"Captain," BG Rodriguez said, taking over the interview, "can you go into the circumstances as to why your wife was so young when you met?"

Marx swallowed hard. He really didn't want to try to explain the existence of magic to his commanders, and the actual circumstances of Ranma becoming his wife. "Her father, who was her sensei, was an abusive drunk who'd think nothing of prostituting his daughter for booze money. Her mother had disowned her, declaring her ronin. In Japanese society, it's shameful to be kicked out of one's family, to the point where a ronin is unable to find employment or education. That was why I married my wife at such a young age."

"You realize that your wife was not of legal age, don't you Captain?"

Marx looked the wing commander square in the eyes. "Sir, when Ranma was disowned by her family, kicked out of the Saotome Clan, she was, for all intents and purposes, given legal adult status. As it is now, she is legal, and we love each other very much."

The General stared the impertinent officer down. "This board is closed. Thank you, Captain, for your time. Dismissed." Marx stood, saluted and left the conference room. He was still on automatic pilot when he walked down to the parking lot and climbed into his jeep. He drove on to Fort Dix, and pulled into the parking lot for the Navy's Inshore Boat Unit 24. A buddy of his from his National Guard days was assigned there, he'd gone back to the Navy after seeing just how screwed up their unit was.

"Is Chief Desena available?" Marx asked the petty officer at the desk.

"One moment, sir," he replied, and slipped out from behind her desk. He knocked on his office door. "Chief, there's an Air Force Captain here to see you."

"Send him in," the Chief growled back in his Brooklyn accent. The petty officer motioned for Marx. He nodded to the petty officer, and walked in. "Marxy, how the hell are you?"

Marx threw his service cap on the desk and opened his jacket. "Not bad. Flying's pretty good. I'm with some good people, like the section back in Teaneck."

"Glad to here it. How's the family?"

"Ranma's almost done with school; Saburo's a handful, and getting into everything. I thing Ranma'll be happy when he goes to school in September. How've you been?"

"Pretty good. Jo and the kids are doing great. So, what brings you down to my neck of the woods?" The chief lit up a cigarette, and pushed the ashtray over towards Marx, who reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigar.

"Promotion board," he replied as clipped the end and lit it up. "I think I did pretty well until that bald-headed prick started asking me questions about Ranma's past."

Desena chuckled. "Sounds like another bald-headed prick we know from Teaneck."

"God, don't remind me about that schmuck." The two continued to talk about shop for a while, letting frustrations out that were building up.

------ 

"I'm home," Marx called as he walked into the house.

"Hi sweetie, I'm in the kitchen," Ranma called. "How did it go?"

Marx walked back. "I'll be lucky if I get to keep my security clearance, let alone get promoted."

"Why's that," she asked, walking to him. She took one sniff of his uniform. "You've been smoking again, haven't you?"

"Only two cigars down at Dix. As to why, Lt. Hartnet began asking questions about your past, especially your time in China. Apparently that paranoid knucklehead thinks you're a potential security risk."

"Why does he think that?"

"Because you spent over a year in the People's Republic." Marx sat down wearily in the chair. "This just sucks."

Ranma gave her husband a reassuring hug. "Does it suck as much as when your father died?"

"That's a different kind of suck, aisuru. This could be the end of my career in the Air Force."

"But would it be so bad? You could get a job teaching again. Maybe even get a small plane and fly on the weekends." She began rubbing her husband's shoulders. "Mmm, you're tense."

"Is there any other reason why?" Marx felt his shoulders loosening up, slightly. He didn't answer her question, letting it linger in the back of his mind. "Where's Saburo?"

"He's spending the night with your mother. Your mom was delighted to have him for the night, and he got to spend time playing with his cousins; although I still think your sister is the odd duck, and our niece is too whiny.

"Dr. DeBruin checked him over at St. Joe's today. He didn't find anything that could keep him from school when school starts. In fact, the doctor was amazed about how much our son is on a normal level."

"Like I said, he comes from good stock, mainly on his mother's side."

"If you knew me before Jusenkyo, anata, you really wouldn't think that. I was such a jerk. And," she barely suppressed a shudder, "Oyaji was the best role model I had at the time."

"But look at what you've become since then: a loving wife and mother; you graduated high school in the top 25 percent of the class, something even I didn't do; you're in school to become a teacher. You've probably exceeded what that lazy panda'd want for you in life."

"True, but since when did this become a discussion about me?" Ranma asked. "Let's go get you relaxed. I have something I want to do with you," she purred in Marx's ear.

-------  
AN: For those of you who may have seen the model on my Yahoo! Photo page, and had questions about the tail code (I know Viper did), here's the answer. Up until 1994, Misawa was an air defense base; their tail code was "MJ". When the 35th Wing moved from NAS Keflavik to Misawa, they assumed a new mission, SEAD, or Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses, and became Wild Weasels. 

A Wild Weasel-designated squadron can be assigned to any base, anywhere in the world, so they are not limited to one specific tail code. It also allows escorting fighters a chance to recognize what their mission is.

In the alternate reality of Phoenix, the 35th Wing did assume responsibilities on Misawa, but the wing maintained their air defense role, hence the "MJ" on the model.


	15. Chapter XIII

The phone next to the bed began ringing, pulling Ranma out of a sound sleep. "Marx residence," she said. She cracked an eye open, and saw the friendly red letters on the clock proclaim 2:15 in the morning.

"Mrs. Marx, this is Staff Sergeant Summerall, the night operations NCO. Sorry to bother you this early, but the Captain needs to report in as soon as possible."

"I'll wake him, but is there any reason why?"

"Sorry ma'am, I can't say over a nonsecure phone."

"Thank you, Sergeant. Good night." Ranma hung the phone back up, and began poking her husband. "Chris, wake up." No response, so she began poking harder. "Chris, wake up." Still no response from him, so it was time for drastic measures. She flipped him out of bed.

"Why'd you do that for, tomboy?" Marx asked sleepily.

"Because I couldn't wake you up any other way, baka." She held out her hand to him. Marx reached up, grabbed it, and pulled his wife to him. "Not now," she said between passionate kisses. "You have to report in immediately."

"Did they say why?"

"No, just as soon as possible," she replied, as her husband's hands roamed up under her pajama top. "He did sound serious about it. Hey, cut it out!" Defending her honor against her husband, she used a new move that she'd learned from TV, of all places. Ranma placed her hand at the junction of the neck and shoulder of her husband, and squeezed. "Beware the dreaded Anything Goes Vulcan nerve pinch."

"Alright, alright already," Marx growled, with his wife's hand pinching off his vagus nerve. He reached up and removed Ranma's hand from his neck. As he pulled on his flightsuit and boots, he looked at his wife. "I'll get you later, aisuru."

Ranma fluttered her eyes at him, coyly. "You can try, anata. You can try."

Marx kissed his wife, and headed out the door. He jumped into his jeep, and pulled out of his driveway; Ranma waving to him from the upstairs window. Racing through the streets of Summit, he surmised there was a reason for the early morning phone call with limited information. The squadron was going on alert status. He pushed the sixty year old four cylinder engine for all it was worth, to get to the base.

------

Running into the briefing room, Marx grabbed a seat in the back. Pilots were sitting there, in various states of alertness. Some had just been woken up, others were bright-eyed and bushy tailed, yet others were sucking off of oxygen tanks that Life Support had "conveniently" placed in the briefing room.

The room was called to attention as Colonel Reed walked in. He walked quickly to the podium, as the room lights dimmed. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I won't offer apologies on why you're here. I will remind you that this briefing is classified. No information is to be released to the public or your families at this time. In the spirit of cooperation, the Soviet Union contacted the State Department with information pertaining to a piece of lost equipment.

"It seems our colleagues in the Soviet Air Force seem to have 'lost' a Backfire." With that statement, the room shook from a massive face fault, as all twenty pilots hit the tiled floor. Colonel Reed gave his pilots a few moments to recover. "The Soviets did not say whether the bomber stolen was configured as a bomber or long range interceptor. Nor did they say it where it was stolen from.

"Reports from Langley indicate that the bomber was stolen from one of the southern republics, and may have been 'acquired' by Al Qaida, for a new phase of terror attacks. That information, however, has not been verified.

"What this means for us is this: 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Air Defense Commands are now on alert. We will continue to run our standard strip alerts, but with patrols out 1200 miles. Tanker support will be at 600 miles out, with standard callsign of 'Texaco'. There will be Navy carriers will be operating at the 1800 to 2400 mile range, because of this situation.

"Patrol schedule will have First and Third elements on alert status, Second and Fourth are on patrol status every other month, until we get the stand down order. Somehow, ladies and gentlemen, I don't see that order being rescinded anytime soon.

"Element leaders, you are dismissed schedule your elements." Reed looked at his acting executive officer. "Marx, my office." Marx nodded and followed the squadron commander out of the briefing room.

"Yes sir," he asked, as he closed the door to Reed's office.

"How do you think you did on your board yesterday?"

Marx looked down at his feet, and scuffed his boot across the floor. "Somehow, sir, I doubt I'm getting promoted."

"What makes you say that?"

"I was asked a few questions about my wife."

"Such as?"

"Her past—the fact that she's spent time in the People's Republic of China as a martial artist. And her age when I married her."

"How old was Ranma when you married her?"

Marx sighed. "She was sixteen sir," he said flatly. Second time in less than twenty four hours he was asked how old his wife was when they met.

"I see," Reed said. "I'm sure there where extenuating circumstances."

"Yes sir. She'd been thrown out of her family for refusing to an arranged marriage with someone she'd never met. Plus, her father was a drunken bastard who'd think nothing of prostituting his daughter for his own gain."

"And you explained that to the board?"

"I did, sir."

Reed looked at the thirty seven year old promotable captain sitting in front of his desk. "Marx," he said, "don't worry about it. General Rodriguez is a fair man. He'll see both sides of the issue."

"Understood sir. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to rack out for a few in my office." Marx stood, saluted his superior, and left the Colonel's office. As he walked to his sanctuary, Marx hoped that Reed was correct in his assessment of the Wing Commander.

------

The alarm went off as it did every morning at 6 am. Ranma peeled an eye open, and looked at the evil device. She was seriously contemplating destroying it, since she didn't need to be up that early. Her son was with her mother-in-law; her husband was already at the squadron, so she didn't need to get up as early as it was. Rationalizing, if she got up later, she'd never get out of bed early on a regular basis. Changing into a warm up suit, she went into the backyard to begin her morning exercises.

The pond her husband had added was a nice touch, creating a calming influence to the yard, making it almost like what was up in Cresskill. Which was a nice effect, since the back of their property line abutted State Highway 24, making it an oasis in the noise of traffic on the other side of the sound barrier. The yard had an almost Zen influence, the way the wind chimes complimented the bubbling of the falls in the pond. Of course there were also the train tracks around the pond. Ranma had laughed at her husband when he put them in. But his response was he had trains when he was three, so why not let Saburo have them as well. But it was her husband who played with the trains more than their son did.

She'd just finished her first warm up kata when the first wave of nausea hit her. Ranma was barely in the kitchen when the second wave hit her, along with the remnants of dinner. _Maybe I shouldn't have made sukiyaki last night_, she said to herself. But that more rational part of her mind, the one that many years ago told she wasn't raped by her rescuer, said that she'd cooked sukiyaki before. "I've also been late," she muttered to herself.

The final pieces clicked in her head. "Oh boy," she muttered, "I'm pregnant. I guess Chris will be thrilled." She rinsed her mouth out, and made a phone call to the base hospital.

-------

Marx was sleeping, fitfully, on a folding cot in his office. The cot was there only for those nights that weather or mission requirements kept him on the base. And owning an old jeep that made the weather requirements rare. There was a knock at his office door. Rolling upright, he opened it and squinted. "Yes Sergeant?"

"Captain Marx, your wife is here to see you."

He rubbed his eyes and grabbed his glasses off the desk. "Show her in." He sat on the edge of the folding cot, still trying to get his bearings. "So, what can I do for you, Ranma?"

"Oh, nothing really," she replied, coyly. She teasingly ran her hand along her husband's nomex-clad chest. Marx noticed that she was wearing was wearing the same lavender floral print kimono she'd been wearing before they met with Nodoka.

"'Oh, nothing really?'" He quoted back to her. "Then why are you wearing that particular kimono?"

"Well…I just wanted to tell you how much I love you. And…" she gave him such a kawaii look.

"And?"

"You're going to be a father."

"I'm already a…" Marx's voice trailed off, as he realized what his wife just said. He stood and swept Ranma up into a hug, twirling her around. "How far along?"

"Two months, anata."

"Mom'll be happy."

"Hai. Both our mothers."

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Col. Reed said in the doorway, after clearing his throat. "Mrs. Marx."

"Ah, no sir," Marx replied, putting his wife down. Ranma looked embarrassed, blushing furiously. "What's up sir?"

"I've heard some news from General Rodriguez. His decision has not been set in stone yet, but you needn't worry about your wife's past coming back to haunt you right now."

Marx's smile got even bigger, if it was possible. "Thank you, sir. That's extremely good news." It didn't hurt that Marx was also the only one in the Wing, and the F-106G community, with a red star painted on his intake for a lucky shot fired in the blind. The Air Force has allowed him to keep the kill marking, even though it raised holy hell with the State Department. For the General Dynamics division of Lockheed-Martin, it was vindication that their design could tangle with the best the Soviet Union had, especially after reviewing the gun camera footage, and quieting the naysayers in their parent corporation about such an obsolete design.

Ranma kissed her husband on the cheek. "I've got to get to class, and then Saburo. I'll see you later. I hope."

Marx hugged his young wife. "I hope so too."

------  
52°10"N 26°0"W

Out over the Atlantic, Al-Qaida was about to enter a new phase of terror on the Western nations. Having launched from an abandoned WWII airbase in the interior of Morocco, their latest terror weapon was orbiting at an intercept point, well outside of radar range of most ATC radars. Add that they were following total emissions control; the bomber did not exist on radar with their transponder turned off. The terrorist crew had the bomber's twin Kuznetsov engines set at a reduced power, increasing their loiter time as they sipped from four external drop tanks.

Their target was moving into the ambush fat, dumb and happy. The crew of the Backfire turned their radar on, and flipped one of their longer range missiles at the Boeing 787. Within moments of missile launch, the passenger jet turned into self feeding, expanding fireball. Without a peep, the raider left the engagement area and headed back to their base, as the fireball extinguished itself.

------  
Morristown AFS

The television in the break room was tuned to Fox News, allowing the crews to listen to the latest breaking news. No mention, however, was made of the missing Backfire, indicating how much wasn't coming from the Soviet Union. "_Breaking news from our Spanish office. At __2 am__, Eastern Time, El Al flight LY028 disappeared without a trace off the Iberian Peninsula. At this time, there are no clues or leads as to what happened._

_"There is, however, the speculation of a possible terror attack, no organization has claimed responsibility, and investigators are not ruling out a possibility of an aircraft design fault._"

"Who wants to lay money on it being our missing Backfire," was the question being asked by several of the pilots in the squadron.

Marx stood at the back of the break room, watching the news, and listening to the conversations of the crews. There was anger, there was outrage, and there was understanding. A lot of the younger pilots didn't remember September 11th the way the older pilots did, the way the units were unable to intercept the airliners in time. Marx remembered it very well because he was with his Guard unit at Teterboro the day after, awaiting a FEMA flight from Denver; he was in lower Manhattan the following week, helping with recovery operations, he saw the pile of rubble that was the World Trade Center. Like December 7, 1941, 9/11 was a pivotal moment in history.

And now it seemed that the War on Terror was moving to a new phase. No longer did it seem that Al-Qaida was content on trying to blow up airliners with suicide bombers. Security controls at the airports prevented that, air marshals prevented that, passenger awareness prevented that. The only thing that didn't prevent it was total air dominance. It took so long to get fighters into the air, and into response locations. And it was unfortunate that certain NATO allies were keeping their fighters on the ground, saying it wasn't their fight.

------

Ranma stood outside the Customs checkpoint in Terminal 4 at JFK International Airport in New York, waiting for her guests. She'd heard on the news about the attack on the flight in from Hong Kong, and hoped her sister was all right. The doors opened, and out came the passengers from the flight, and it wasn't hard to pick out her sister. "Xian Pu!" Ranma called in rusty Joketsuzoku Mandarin, waving to the lavender-tressed Amazon. The last time she spoke Mandarin was when she called Balm about her father-in-law.

Shampoo smiled and ran over to her sister. "Ranma," she called in equally rusty Japanese. The two sisters hugged each other fiercely, since they hadn't seen each other in almost seven years, and the Amazon had just survived a near-death experience. Standing off to the side, like a proper Amazon male, was her husband with their daughter. "Ranma, I'd like you to meet my husband Ming, and our daughter Xian Li."

"Pleased to meet you," Ranma said, with a bow. She looked at her niece. "I'm Aunty Ranma."

"The honor is mine, sister-in-law."

The seven year old hid cautiously behind her father's robes. "She's still too too shy," Shampoo said, sighing. "So unlike her mother but so much like her aunt."

Ranma looked at her sister. "I had a reason to be shy, sister. You know that."

"I know, but its fun teasing you about it. Where's your husband?"

"Christopher-kun is at work. He's been there for the past month."

"Oh. I hope he was in one of the fighters that chased those terrorists away from our plane."

"So do I. But he's second in command for his unit, so he doesn't always get the time in that he used to," Ranma replied with a sigh. "But at least he's not moody because of it. As much as he loves flying, he's also enjoying the responsibilities of command. Odd as it may sound for him."

Shampoo looked at her Japanese sister. "No, your husband is becoming a war leader. Especially since it's an uncertain world we live in."

Ranma nodded, as they retrieved their luggage. "So what ever happened to Mu Tzu? Your last letters were kind of vague on it."

"Stupid blind boy fall in Nyanniichuan, but she got captured by Musk during raid. Just desserts I say. But infiltration party had to wash girl-type Mousse with Xi Fa Xiang Gao, so that Musk wouldn't get his Hidden Weapons technique."

Ranma chuckled, remembering the number of times that the blind Amazon glomped her thinking she was Shampoo. That boy was a nuisance to the tribe, despite his mastery at an obscure Amazon martial art.

When they picked up Saburo from his grandmother's, Shampoo gushed at just how cute her nephew was, as did Ranma's mother-in-law did with Shampoo's daughter.

------


	16. Chapter XIV

Marx turned and walked out of the break room, out to the flight line. Watching a pair of Darts taxi out from his element taxi out and launch, helped to relieve the tensions that the executive office was feeling. The past couple of months had been tense for the pilots of the squadron. Alerts led to interceptions of lost or misdirected aircraft in the first month, as the Department of Homeland Security implemented air traffic corridors into the Air Defense Identification Zone. Any plane outside one of these corridors was subject to interception, but never did any of the units get the plane that downed El Al flight 28.

They came close last month, when Cathay Pacific flight 830, following the new corridors, was intercepted by the raider. One engine was blown out by the Backfire's guns, but the bomber left with a pair of Darts and a pair of Eagles on its tail.

"Scooter," he heard.

Marx turned and saw the operations officer standing near one of the aircraft structures. "What can I do for you Beetle?"

"We've got a mission. Seems our friend is back, and causing more trouble. McFly and Junior aren't answering their radios. And Air France flight 8991 disappeared from the radar as well."

"Shit. Sounds like they got tagged by our friend."

"Exactly. Go get suited up, we launch in five minutes."

Marx nodded and jogged to Life Support to get into the rest of his flight gear. It was possible to launch in just nomex, but pulling g-forces greater than 4Gs and flying higher than 10 thousand feet weren't advisable. The techs there helped the middle aged captain get into his G-suit, parachute harness and survival gear. Grabbing a conveniently insecure Humvee, he took the minute drive to his structure. Airman Rios had the starter cart already running, providing external power to the fighter. A quick walkaround later, showing that nothing was detrimental to the fighter, Marx climbed into the cockpit and strapped in. The Pratt and Whitney F119 fired up on the first go, and warning beacons, taxi and formation lights snapped on. "Sierra Two, standing by to taxi."

"_Sierra One, roger.__ Morristown Tower, Sierra Flight requesting taxi clearance."_

"_Sierra Flight, Morristown Tower.__ You are cleared to taxi to Runway 13. _"

"_Sierra Flight, roger. Sierra One taxiing._"

Marx keyed his radio. "Sierra Two taxiing." Marx advanced the throttle of his fighter, and taxied out of his shelter. It only took a few minutes for the two fighters, which were not on alert status, to taxi from their revetments to the threshold markings at the end of Runway 13.

The radio squawked to life again. "_Sierra Flight, you are cleared for take off._" The twilit night lit up as the afterburners on both fighters rocketed down the runway, before pulling nearly vertical halfway down the runway. "_Sierra Flight, contact NYADS on button 5._" As their altimeters wound up, they chopped their throttles back to keep from exceeding the speed of sound.

"_Roger._" Both pilots switched their tactical radios to the assigned preset. "_NYADS, Sierra Flight._"

"_Sierra Flight, NYADS. Follow standard interception orders. Privateer has been spotted near grid reference 27UWT6813998584. There's been a loss of contact with Air France flight 8991. Rendezvous with Texaco 29 at grid reference 24VUL8510641771. Once clear from Texaco 29, contact Starbase 4 on button 6. You are authorized transonic flight over CONUS; your speed is BUSTER. I say again BUSTER._" Marx imputed the grids into his navigation computer, giving him waypoint information that was unavailable on the ground in this rapid scramble.

"_Roger. Sierra Two, punch it._" Once again, the night sky was lit up with trails of fire, as both fighters relit their afterburners. On the ground, a pair of sonic booms was heard as the fighters slipped through Mach 1. Mach indicators in the cockpits crept up to Mach 2, before the pilots pulled back slightly on the throttles. It only took forty five minutes for the two fighters to reach their tanker, but they were close to fuel minimums. Both Beetle and Marx took a perverse pleasure in draining the remaining standby fuel in their KC-10, to give them full tanks—internals and drop—for the second leg of their interception.

"_Starbase 4, Sierra Flight with you at FL 350, heading for FL 550._"

"_Sierra Flight, Starbase 4, radar contact. Target is at Angels 40; heading 135°, speed Mach .95. Be advised, no assistance available in time. Also be advised, Weather is reporting a potential tropical depression forming off the coast of Africa._"

"_Starbase 4, Sierra Flight, roger.__ We'll take care of it. Sierra Flight out. Just make sure there's a tanker standing by at point Delta._" The two fighters angled towards their contact, accelerating to their top speed of Mach 2.6. It was a tail chase, and their target had fuel capacity to spare, but they weren't using the capabilities of the bomber to the best of their abilities, which gave the American interceptors their best advantage.

"Tally ho!" Marx called over the radio. "I've got the bastard at 11 o'clock low!"

"_Roger, Scooter. Let's go nail this asshole._" As the two fighters closed on the Backfire, warning lights began flashing in the cockpit.

Two pairs of modified AA-11 "Archer" missiles, modified to be fired to the rear of a strike fighter, streaked from their mounts. Both fighters took evasive maneuvers, but Beetle's was nailed before he could complete his first turn.

"Holy mother…Starbase 4, Starbase 4, Sierra Two. Sierra One is down! I say again, Sierra 1 is down. No 'chute! No 'chute!

"Sierra 2 engaging! Fox 2! Fox 2!" Marx locked his AMRAAMs on the Backfire and flipped the first two. They were decoyed by chaff, flares and powerful jamming coming from the Soviet bomber. "Sonuvabitch," he growled into his mask. He switched his last two long range missiles to home-on-jam mode, and launched them. The huge bomber managed to evade those missiles as well with a tight turn at the last minute.

He closed the distance and ripple fired his Sidewinders. "Fox 1! Fox 1! This sonuvabitch is dead." He sighed in frustration as his last air to air missiles were all decoyed, either by flares, evasive maneuvers, or a jammer.

With his guns his last choice, Marx closed the distance with a solid solution. The bomber's rear turret and he exchanged rounds, as his 20mm explosive tipped rounds walked their way through the wings and engines, while the Backfire's dual 23mm cannons tore apart his fighter. "Got the bastard!" He cheered as the bomber erupted into a ball of flame, but at the same time his own fighter began disintegrating around him.

"Starbase 4, Starbase 4, Sierra 2 ejecting." Ejecting as the fighter blew up into a ball of flames, Marx sailed down into a rough Atlantic Ocean, on the leading edge of a tropical depression.

------

Ranma had just gotten their son out of bed when there was a knock at the front door. _Chris isn't back from the squadron yet. I wonder…_she thought. With trepidation, she walked down the stairs, hoping it wasn't what she thought it would be. There was a knock again, this time with a little more insistence. Opening the door, she saw it was Colonel Reed. "What can I do for you this morning, Colonel?" She motioned for the squadron commander to come in, and asked if he'd like a cup of tea or coffee. He declined.

"Mrs. Marx, your husband was shot down over the eastern Atlantic last night."

"What do you mean, 'shot down'?"

"Ma'am, he was engaging a terrorist bomber that had shot down two airliners, and damaged a third…"

"I remember that one. My sister was on that flight."

"I assume she came through it all right?" Ranma nodded.

"How did it happen?"

"We're…not sure. He was flying wingman for Beetle…Major Bailey, who was shot down, without a 'chute being observed. Chris called it over the air, and informed the AWACs that he was engaging.

"As far as we know, he was shot down in the process of firing on the enemy. But we do know he was somewhat successful, since both his fighter and the terrorists were destroyed within moments of each other.

"Ranma, we have search and rescue enroute to the area, so if he survived, they'll find him." _If he survives the storm coming_, Reed thought.

"Colonel…thank you. I need some time alone." Reed nodded, and let his executive officer's wife have some time alone. If they didn't find her husband, she'll have to raise three kids on her own, and that was a sobering fact.

------  
Somewhere in the Atlantic

Marx was busy bailing for his life. He'd managed to fashion a sea anchor out of his reserve parachute and "550" cord, so that his life raft was at least facing the waves threatening to swamp his inflatable. His helmet he was using to bail out the bottom of the raft to keep it afloat, and it was his rotten luck that the first wave knocked his ELT overboard.

At least on the bright side, he'd noticed a trawler not too far away when he'd crest a wave, and still had his flare pistol and a half dozen flares. He sent a flare up into the gloomy skies the second time he sighted the fishing boat. It started moving when he crested a third time, and to keep them appraised of his position, he flipped one every third wave. As it got closer, that's when he saw the hammer and sickle flying from the mast, along with a multitude of antennas.

When it got to his position, the crew of the trawler heaved a line out to him, pulling him aboard. "Well," he muttered, as he was unceremoniously dropped on the deck of the Soviet trawler, "any port in a storm." He looked at his rescuers and potential captors.

They were a scurvy lot, what you might expect a Soviet intelligence ship might have for a crew. In his mind, he could almost picture them as a modern day pirate crew. "Keptin Marx," one said in heavily accented English, "velcome aboard. Your pistol, please?" With hesitation, and only prompted by a number of automatic rifles seen, Marx carefully withdrew his M1911A4 automatic, removed the 15 round staggered clip, and ejected the round in the chamber. With the slide back, he handed it to sailor in front of him, grip first, then handed over his clip. "Spasiba, Keptin. Vould you come vit me, please."

"How did…Oh. Never mind." Marx had forgotten his Velcro patches on his flightsuit. He hadn't expected to be taken prisoner, so he hadn't tossed them into the drink. He followed his "host" into the superstructure. He was unbound so he knew he wasn't a prisoner, at least yet.

They brought him to the galley, and set a steaming cup of tea in front of him, which he gratefully took a large gulp out of. Sitting across from him was a smooth looking woman, dressed as a typical fisherman. In front of the person was what looked like a personnel jacket. "Captain Marx, I'd like to welcome you aboard our humble vessel," she said, in Oxford-accented English.

"I'd like to thank you for my rescue. I'd rather not have spent much time bouncing around in a raft during a tropical depression."

"You're quite welcome. It's not every day we get an American pilot dropping in on our humble vessel. Particularly since we're just a modest fishing vessel."

Marx looked at his opponent across the table. "Tell you what. Just drop me off at the nearest neutral port, and we'll forget about this entire incident, shall we?"

The blonde laughed throatily. "You are so unlike your dossier, Captain. Or should I say Major? Your promotion is all but in the bag." Marx raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh yes, we know all about you and your career." She opened the file in front of her. "It's a shame really. Your photo looks nothing like you. Let's see…currently second-in-command of the 542nd Fighter Squadron, after doing a three year tour in Japan with the 14th Fighter Squadron; married to a Japanese national, who has quite an interesting history. Seems that the only "Ranma Saotome" until about five years ago was a male. But all of a sudden there's first a "Ranma Misaki" on a Japanese registry followed by a change in gender to "Ranma Saotome". Care to explain that?"

Marx narrowed his eyes at the blonde bombshell across from him. "Only if you'd care to explain how Al-Qaeda got a hold of an interceptor Backfire."

"Captain, I cannot explain that, as it would compromise the Motherland's internal security."

"Well, my friend, if you won't explain that, then I can't explain it." He held a steady gaze on his inquisitor. "Not that you'd believe me anyway," he muttered under his breath.

"Look," he said, "I just shot down a bomber that your air force 'lost' and was 'found' by a terror organization. Can't you just send a radio message to your Foreign Ministry, to contact the State Department and apprise them of my situation? I'm sure my wife would appreciate it.

"Besides, it'll help your country save face when our president asks your ambassador how and why Al-Qaeda had such a sophisticated piece of equipment."

The blonde inquisitor closed the file and stood. "This interview is at an end, Captain. Please, enjoy our hospitality, but the only areas that you will be allowed are the deck, the galley, sickbay, and your cabin. If you are caught anywhere other than the areas I mentioned, you will...simply have succumbed to the storm.

"And, as we are not scheduled to stop anywhere other than our home port, we are unable to simply drop you off at a neutral port. I will, however, radio Moscow once we are clear of this storm about our 'unique' situation.

"Dimitri will be your escort, and show you to your cabin. Good day, Captain Marx." She opened the door, and called to the guard in Russian. The hulking guard entered, an AKS-74 slung across his back. He motioned for Marx, who stood, and followed the guard to his cabin.

"Christ," he muttered, "I feel like James Bond. Just without all the nifty gadgets." He entered the cabin, and the guard secured the hatch. "Escape and evasion needs to add something like this in their curriculum." He looked out the porthole, at the horizon as the trawler pitched up and down the mounting waves, and had the feeling that the next few days would be a question and answer session like the last one he had. He hadn't been searched yet, so they hadn't found his codebook yet, but it'd be a matter of time before they decided to search him. He'd have to figure out some way to destroy it the next time he was out on deck.

------

Ranma knelt before a small shrine in a corner of their living room, incense filling the air with its comforting scent. A black and white photo of her grandfather standing next to his A6M Zero, dressed in his flightsuit, was the centerpiece of the shrine. "Grandfather," she said in prayer, "I ask that you protect my husband from the elements, and allow him a swift rescue.

"Grandfather, I guess it's kind of odd that you should hear me ask for your protection for my husband. I remember bouncing on you knee as a child, and as a boy…" Ranma related her story to her grandfather's spirit. In a way, it gave her a much needed release from the depression that had started to fill over her, after Colonel Reed stopped by with the bad news four days ago. She put up a strong front in front of young Saburo, but inside she was hurting. Ever since Misawa, her husband had been her steadfast anchor in the chaos that would have swept her away, leaving her existence only as a mark in the roles of Jusenkyo and as an adopted Amazon.

Now she was asking for divine assistance from her late grandfather, a fighter pilot of great renown to both the Imperial Navy's Air Arm, and their American adversaries, and of modest demeanor, to protect her husband, a fighter pilot of modest renown and demeanor in the American Air Force, as Tropical Storm Brunhilde began to strengthen into a hurricane. Ranma began finishing up her rambling monologue to her ancestor. "I know I haven't been the most diligent of granddaughters, but all I ask is that I not have to wait for the next life to rejoin my husband; that we meet again in this life, so that we have the rest of our lives together raising our children."

Standing, she saw her son standing over by the door. "Momma, where's Daddy? When's he coming home?"

Ranma knew this was coming. She really didn't want to explain what happened to Chris to their son, but it was something that needed to be done anyway. "Come here, Saburo-kun," she said, as she unfolded and sat Indian-style. Their son sat down next to his mother. "I'm going to tell you a little of our family history first. Do you see that man in that picture?"

"The one standing in front of the really old plane? Like the kind Daddy loves to look at when he takes us to an airshow?"

"Yes. That's your great grandfather; in fact you're named after him and your grandfather. He was a fighter pilot, fighting for the defense of his homeland. He was hurt many times, and shot down a few times as well. But he persevered. He lived his life like a samurai from ancient Japan.

"Well, your daddy is a fighter pilot also. Do you remember when you were asking about the decorations on his jacket?"

"Yes Momma."

"Well, he's doing what your great grandfather did during the Second World War: he's defending his home from bad people that want to hurt us. And like your great grandfather, he was shot down a few days ago. Hopefully, he'll be home in a few days, and everything will be alright. If he's not; Saburo, you are the man of the house. It'll be up to you to help me with the chores around the house, and when your brothers or sisters are born, help me with them. Do you think you're up to the task?"

"I think so, Momma." Saburo hugged his mother tightly. "Daddy'll be home. I just know it. Besides, 'A martial artist's life is full of danger,'" he said, paraphrasing his convicted grandfather's favorite truism.

Ranma hugged her son just as tightly, as a lone tear tracked it's way down her face.


	17. Chapter XV

Three unmarked sedans—all identical except for their GSA tags—pulled out of the front gate of Morristown Air Force Station and headed towards NJ Highway 24. There was no escort or coordination with state, county or municipal authorities, since that was not part of the mission, nor was there any need.

Ranma pulled into the driveway and sighed. Her husband's jeep was still in the driveway; in the same place it had been for the past five months. Sliding open the rear passenger door, Saburo jumped out of the minivan and ran into the house.

She smiled at her son's enthusiasm, it reminded her so much of herself when she was that age. And Saburo took to martial arts like a duck to water—like she did when she was six.

She set her school books on the kitchen counter, and as she did for the past five months, quickly cleaned house, started dinner and went over the bills. Colonel Reed had ensured that Finance continue to keep her husband's salary coming, even though the Pentagon had declared him missing.

With the bills sorted, dinner simmering, and Saburo practicing his forms, Ranma waddled out of the kitchen and opened the door to her husband's office. She kept it clean, far cleaner than when he was using it. As much as she despised her husband's habit, Ranma kept Marx's humidor the way he liked it: 70 degrees and 65 percent humidity. The model Phantom he had been building was still in the same state of construction as when he left.

It was, for Ranma Marx, the same routine she followed for the past five months. And shortly it was about to be interrupted.

The three sedans pulled up to Marx's house. Two plainclothes OSI agents climbed out of the lead and trail sedans while a third climbed out and opened the back door of the middle car. Marx climbed out and looked around, but all that mattered was that he was home after three months at sea with a Soviet intelligence trawler and two months debriefing with the boys at Langley and Air Force OSI to ensure that he hadn't been turned by the KGB.

Marx took one step towards his home, when he got bowled over by a pint-sized ball of fury. "POPPA!" Saburo cried, as he hugged his father.

Ranma opened the front door; she was on her way to see what Saburo had started running for…

Marx was just getting up—not an easy task with a six year old attached to both legs like a limpet—when he got knocked over again by a redheaded ball of energy. "Anata," she said in Japanese, "I've missed you so very much. I'm just so happy that you're home." Ranma hugged her husband in an Amazon Glomp that would have put the most amorous of Amazons to shame.

"Momma," came a muffled cry, "get offa me. You're crushing me." This was quickly followed by a pint-sized foot to her shin.

Ranma rolled off her husband and son with an abashed look on her face. Marx smiled at his wife and son, as he got up. "It's good to be home," he said, as he helped his wife up. He waved to the smiling OSI agents, who then got in their cars and left.

"So what happened?" Ranma asked, as she shut the front door. Saburo ran upstairs to change out of his gi, and get cleaned up for dinner.

Marx looked at his young wife. Worry lines etched in her face intermingled with the faint scars from Genma's bungled attempt to train her (then him) in the Neko-ken. He knew she was going to ask him sooner or later. He was just glad it was now. "Beetle bought it when we closed on the bandit; they fired two missiles at us. He wasn't able to evade in time, or eject. I launched every missile I had on my plane, only to see them decoyed away.

"I closed to within gun range and opened fire with my cannon. They returned fire with their tail turret. So we shot each other down; I survived, they didn't." Marx continued his story, pausing only for dinner, which Ranma apologized for such simple fare. With Saburo tucked into bed, he resumed his tale out on the deck, the waterfall of the pond, the never ending traffic on Rt. 24, and the wind chimes creating dissonant background music for his tale.

Ranma sat, coffee cup in hand, listening to her husband weave his tale. Until a sudden sharp pain hit her. "Chris…I think…no, it's time. Get Saburo." Marx ran upstairs and grabbed their son. Even with the initial contractions, Ranma had to smile at her son's "Tenchi Nibonnoichi" pajamas her mother sent him for his birthday. Another wave of contractions hit her as they climbed into the minivan and headed for Minuteman Clinic, on the base.

Delivery, for Ranma, was easier this time around, but longer. Their second son was delivered after nearly twenty hours on the table. Not five minutes after Chris, Jr. was born, his sister wanted out. And for both Ranma and Nodoka Virginia, the delivery was mercifully short, but Ranma was exhausted. Dr. Morgan put her on extended bed rest and large bore IVs to replace lost nutrients.

With a phone call to the squadron by the attending ER doctor for Captain Marx, the squadron rushed to the clinic. They all congratulated him, and clustered around the nursery windows. "Hey guys," Marx said, "you're scaring the kids."

Col. Reed looked at his former executive officer. "Congratulations anyway, Captain. I've got to get these pirates back to work. By the way, what happened to your hand?"

Marx looked at the cast on his hand, and grinned sheepishly. "Ranma sort of crushed it while she was delivering Chris. After this, though, I'm getting fixed. I don't think I could have every bone in my hand broken a third time and not be crippled by it." Col Reed gave him an odd look. "It's a long story, sir."

"I…see. Paperwork's already filled out, so you're on leave until your hand's healed. Take care of your family, Marx."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir.

* * *

Hangar One  
Morristown AFS  
8 weeks later

Marx stood in formation with the rest of the assembled squadron and subordinate units in the main maintenance hangar. He glanced over to his wife, while listening to the wing commander talk. Ranma was being the perfect mother right now, playing the dutiful officer's wife. The twins were both quiet for the first time in eight weeks, thankfully. When one went down, the other would wake up, crying. They never ate at the same time and, when they had time to spar, their sparring showed that Ranma was about ready to kill her husband.

"Captain Marx—post."

He almost missed it, but snapped to attention and headed to where the General was. "Attention to orders. Special Order number 548, dated 1 June 2010. The President of the United States of America, recognizing the honor, fidelity, and ability for increased responsibility hereby promotes Captain Marx to the rank of Major, O-4.

"Will Mrs. Marx please come forward." Ranma stood, after giving the twins' stroller to her sister-in-law, and followed her mother-in-law up.

The General took his newest major's flight cap off, while Ranma and Marx's mother pinned his new rank on his uniform jacket.

"I wish your father was here to see this," his mother said as she hugged him.

"He is, Mom," Marx replied. "He is."

"Congratulations anata," Ranma said, as she kissed her husband.

With his wife and mother stepping off to the side, Marx did an about face, and received the applause of his peers, before returning to the formation. He barely got there when the adjutant called him back up. He reported again.

"For meritorious service as wingman, Captain Christopher Marx is awarded the Silver Star…" The General's adjutant read the citation as witnessed by one of the USS _Enterprise_'s Hawkeye crews.

When she was finished, General Rodriguez stepped forward and pinned the award on Marx's left breast. "Congratulations again, Major. You are also authorized to paint a second star on your fighter," he said as he saluted.

Marx returned the salute. "Thank you, sir."


	18. Chapter XVI

With an annoying buzz, the phone in the 539th Operations Group commander's office rang. "Colonel Marx."

"Sir, its Sergeant Hutton. The General would like to see you in his office right away."

"Alright. Let his imperiousness know that I'm on my way." Marx left his office and headed up to the "rarified air"—Wing Headquarters. There were very few times that he'd been there other than he had to be there. It was an unfortunate bit of planning that when the 539th Fighter Wing was stood up in the wake of 9/11, the first wing commander collocated all the group offices with Wing Headquarters in the New York Air Defense Sector blockhouse. It had been done originally to make sure the newest wing in the Air Force ran smoothly.

As he walked into the General's outer office, Marx nodded to TSgt. Hutton, the old man's aide. Rumor had it that the redhead was shacking up with a Japanese businesswoman that headed Mitsuhima Heavy Industries' Philadelphia office. The rumor may have had a ring of truth since Hutton was seen in the Brown's Mills Wawa every morning with an attractive brown-eyed Japanese woman with a pageboy hairstyle.

Marx knocked on the heavy oak door, then walked into the General's office. Major General Cortalano was dual-hatted as both the 1st Fighter Division Commander and the 539th Wing Commander. The General was also a former SAC bomber wing commander and real hard ass that had a political connection award him this assignment. "You wanted to see me, General?"

"Yes I did," Cortalano replied, his back to his operations group commander. Marx looked down at the General's desk and saw his personnel jacket sitting there. "I've been reviewing your records, Colonel. And I'll say I'm impressed. Air Medal for downing a MiG-29 that may or may not have shot down one of your wingmates. Silver Star for downing a terrorist Backfire that shot down your wingman.

"You're also the only pilot in the Wing, if not the Dart community, to have to kill markings on your plane. You've also been a royal pain in my ass since I assumed command of this wing."

"Sir, I assume this is going somewhere, and not just a criticism of my abilities."

"Yes it is, Colonel. I've noticed you're also fluent in Japanese."

"Yes sir. My wife's Japanese, and we talk to our children in the language as well. Is there a point, sir?"

"I'm grounding you. Effective immediately."

"What? Sir, you can't be serious!"

General Cortalano finally turned around and faced the Colonel. "I've received a request from the Defense Department for an experienced pilot, fluent in Japanese, to be transferred to State as the military attaché to the Ambassador to Japan. And, before you think I requested this, it was a DOD-wide request.

"In thirty days, you'll be out of my hair, and on a plane bound for Narita." Cortalano had an evil smirk on his face. From the first day, the General didn't like his operations group commander, whose whole tenure in SAC lasted only 400 days. Marx even had a picture framed over his desk that expressed his sentiment about that particular Air Force major command—it was an enlargement of a gag patch that had the gauntleted fist of SAC holding a pair of testes with the phrase "To err is human; To forgive is not SAC policy." General Cortalano believed in the SAC policy that even if you got a traffic ticket for the most minor of offences, you were to be taken off flight status, and possibly discharged because you couldn't follow regulations.

Marx, on the other hand, took every opportunity to intercept anything minor headed to the Wing Commander, and call the offender into his office. Behind closed doors, Marx would verbally admonish the offender, and tell a couple of old war stories of when he was enlisted in SAC, and that would be the end of it.

Marx looked at the wing king, said nothing, saluted and left the office.

* * *

Pulling into his driveway, Marx sat in his jeep for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts. His wife was home already, it was a half-day for Summit, and would probably want to know why he was home early. Marx climbed out of the jeep and walked in. "Taidama," he called, as he slid off his low quarters and put on his house slippers. Sixteen years of living in the States hadn't broken either of them of that Japanese tradition, and it was still funny to watch when Saburo brought over someone unfamiliar with the custom.

"I'm in the kitchen, Chris," Ranma called. Marx made his way there, humming a funeral dirge. As he sat down at the counter, his wife looked over at him from the stove. "How come you're home early? And how come you look like Saburo when's been called to the principal's office?" It was a look that she got frequently, since both mother and son were in the same building. It wasn't that Saburo was a bad student—far from it with his 4.0 GPA and his captaincy of the Summit High School martial arts team—it was just his tendency to defend his honor physically. As Saburo explained it every time a faculty member told him to go to the office, other students would question his parentage, and insult his honor. However, while he never threw the first punch, usually by resulting to the Saotome School of Anything Goes Name Calling, Saburo frequently finished the fights. And that was what the faculty usually saw.

"How can you tell something's wrong?" Marx asked. Ranma slid a cup of tea to him.

"Well," she replied, taking his evasiveness as a challenge, "it's two-thirty in the afternoon and you're usually not home until well after 7. Add into the evidence that you were humming Chopin, and you only do that when something's happened."

Marx took a sip of tea to collect his thoughts. "I've been grounded," he finally said after a few minutes of quiet reflection, with just the grandfather clock ticking in the background.

"Why? I know you passed your flight physical, and I doubt it's because the kids get those student visas every year to visit Xian Pu, especially since they fill out the usual contact paperwork from Langley, even if they don't understand why."

"It's because General Jackass is transferring me to State. It seems that I'm the new military attaché—to the Ambassador to Japan."

"That's wonderful news," Ranma said.

Marx looked at his wife. "Have you ever known me to be political? Hell, I pissed off Cortalano the first day he assumed command, because I despise Strategic Air Command.

"Besides, you've got a good job with Summit; you've got your tenure. Do you really want to give that up?"

"Chris," Ranma said quietly, "you know could always retire. I know we've discussed it after every promotion board, or every time you start to get fed up with the Air Force.

"Remember, if you do retire, you've got 29 years in service, so we'll get a respectable pension. You could go back to teaching…" She let her last comments trail off.

"I know Ranma, I've got this bad feeling if I...we don't go."

"'We'?"

"Do you honestly think I'm not going to let our children learn the Japanese part of their heritage? Besides, we send them to the Joketsuzoku every summer; I'm surprised that none of them have come back with a Jusenkyo curse." Marx chuckled.

Ranma, though, sighed. If there was one defining moment in her life, it was the day that Genma took her to Jusenkyo 17 years ago. That one act had the most profound effect, more so than learning the Neko-ken. At least therapy helped her overcome her terror of cats—not enough to allow them to have a cat, but enough to tolerate the little devils. "I know, anata," she finally said. "We've also been luck that my blessing hasn't run out."

"How come you just called it a 'blessing'? You used to call it a curse."

"Because it allowed me to have a normal life, I call it a blessing. When Genma held me captive on the _Kobayashi Maru_, he hinted that I ruined his chances at uniting the two schools of Anything Goes. Only other school I know of is the Tendo School.

"If I hadn't been blessed, I probably would have wound up engaged to some psychotic martial artist, and knowing Genma as I do know, I'd probably have four or five more fiancées to deal with, just because he wanted to fill his fat belly." Ranma had a look of scorn on her face as she thought about her father, extradited to the United States to serve his sentence for kidnapping from a federal installation.

Uncle Sam, after discovering that Genma had a curse and magic was indeed real, felt that his sentence would be better served as a productive member of society. So instead of an 8x10 cell at Ft. Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, he was in the public eye at the National Zoo, in the Giant Panda exhibit.

The total irony of the situation was that when the Zoo's vet examined their newest addition, the tragic tale of the Spring of Drowned Panda became even more tragic for the obese martial artist—the panda that drowned in the spring 1500 years ago was female.

The head of the exhibit had been an Amazon who left the village with a case of wanderlust, eventually settling down in the States. When Ranma got a letter from Kuh Lon saying her father was in the States, she was initially nervous, but laughed when she read further that her father's cursed form was a female panda. She also got a chuckle from the verbatim description of the looks on the Marshals' and vet's faces when he changed back to his normal form right in front of them.

A few years after she got the letter, when Marx took his family down to Washington for the Air Force's birthday ball, they stopped at the National Zoo just to see the panda "Genma". When Genma saw his daughter standing on the other side of the moat, he started running towards her. He almost made it too, until an undercover Marshal's deputy nailed him with a tranquilizer dart.

"Chris," Ranma asked, "are you going to retire or are we going to Japan?"

Marx sighed. "I don't know. General Cortalano didn't exactly say that retirement was an option. And I'm sure if I tried, he'd axe it when it got to him for review. He's that spiteful."

"So I guess we're going back to Japan, then?"

Marx nodded. "We're going back to Japan."

* * *

The next morning found Saburo at school, dressed in his trademark red silk Chinese shirt with wooden ties and black kung fu pants, sitting morosely outside of school. "Hey Saburo," his girlfriend called, "what's wrong?"

"Oh, hi Jenny," he replied neutrally. "It's just that Dad's being transferred at the end of the month."

"Really? Where?"

"Japan."

"Ooh, Japan. Sounds exotic. Is he taking over a wing there?" Jenny was the only girlfriend that his parents had approved of from the get go. It helped that, even though she was popular, she was a closet military fangirl.

"No, he's taking over a diplomatic post; we're going to Tokyo."

"Cool."

"I'd rather stay here, though."

"Why's that?" Jenny asked as they started to walk to homeroom.

"I'm a half-breed; Mom's married to an American, and Japan is still on the insular side when it comes to people like me. They don't see the advantage of the American melting pot," he said, answering his Latin girlfriend's question.

"So? You're an American, Saburo; not Japanese. You should be proud of that fact."

"I guess you're right. I guess that's why Mom and Dad…" If there was one thing that Saburo didn't inherit from his father, it was his height. So when Saburo accidentally walked into the 6'5" star quarterback, he had to look up to see his face.

"Why you little creep," he said, shaking the spilled coffee from his hand.

"Hector," Jenny started to say, but Saburo beat her to the punch. "Excuse me, Hector. Sorry about the coffee." If there was one thing that his father tried to beat into his son's thick skull, it was humility.

"Your momma ain't here to protect you now, slant. It's been long since time that I taught you where your place is."

Saburo looked at the quarterback, as if assessing the 6'5", 230 lbs. All-State football player. "And how many times have I told you that you're never going to beat me?" He smirked, in his self-assured manner, even as he handed his books to his girlfriend.

"Why you little runt," Hector growled, as he cocked his fist back, and launched what would have been a powerful, if wild, haymaker.

With unearthly grace, Saburo jumped into action, first by blocking the haymaker that would have hit his girlfriend, then counterattacking with a series of vicious punch and kick combinations—all pulled so as not to seriously injure the football player, and all hitting pressure points. Hector froze and toppled to the floor like a statue.

"Mr. Marx." All the students in the hallway froze when they heard the principal's voice. "My office, right now."

"Yes sir," Saburo replied. He looked at Jenny. "I'll see you in History?"

"I'll see you then," she said.

Saburo stood at attention in the principal's office. That was another thing his father tried to instill in him—military customs and courtesies since they tended to go hand in hand with humility. He spared a glance at his mother, her long red hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. At least his father wasn't there.

"Ranma, this is the tenth time I've called you in here this month. Something has to be done about Saburo's tendency to get into fights."

"Phil," Ranma said, "Saburo's not the one causing the fights. I've told you this every time that Saburo's been called in here. Hector throws the first punches when he gets into a fight with my son. Just as I'm sure he did this time."

"He did."

"Then why do you constantly blame my son for acting in self-defense?"

"Because Saburo never loses a fight. And Hector's currently in the nurse's office, stiff as a board."

"Saburo never loses because I taught him to be the best," Ranma said with pride. "I also taught him to never go full out, unless life or limb were at stake. If he did go full out with Hector, we wouldn't be having this conversation here, but at the Police Station. Especially if he used techniques that he was taught by myself and my sister's family that are fatal.

"Phil, I tell you this every time as well. What are we going to do?"

"To be honest, Ranma, I'd love to suspend everyone involved, but I can't."

Ranma fixed the principal a look, like she was ready to beat the snot out of him. _There are some fights that can't be won by fists alone,_ Elder Lo Xian would tell the neo girl during her time with the Joketsuzoku. _You must be prepared to fight on a mental battlefield, fight wit to wit, yet never draw a sword or raise a fist. That is what it means to be a great warrior_. "Phil, I'll make you an offer: in thirty days, Saburo will not be a problem anymore, if you allow him to remain a student here."

The principal looked at his straight-A+ troublemaker. "Mr. Marx, can I trust you not to get into any fights while you're on this thirty day probation?"

Saburo looked at his mother first, then the principal. "On my honor, I will not get into any fights that I cannot avoid. If someone throws the first punch at me, Doc, what should I do?"

"Since you've always protested your innocence, I would recommend a passive course right now. You're treading on extremely thin ice, young man.

"No get out of my office."

"Saburo" Ranma called, "wait for me by the secretary's desk." Saburo nodded and left. She turned back to the principal. "Phil, we've known each other for what, nine years?" The principal nodded. "Have you ever questioned my judgment on anything?"

"No, I've always trusted how you run your classes the way you see fit. Even if there is an over emphasis on martial arts."

"Then why are you questioning my son's judgment?"

"Because I can't give him the luxury of the benefit of the doubt. Every student tries the self-defense plea at some point. Saburo does it every time."

"Even if there are witnesses that will validate what happened?"

"Even if the Legal Club were to have a mock trial."

"I see." Ranma reached into her gym bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. She placed it on Phil's desk.

"What's this for?"

"A request for sabbatical leave, thirty days hence. My husband's been reassigned."

"So that's why your son won't be a problem in thirty days. Sneaky, Ranma; very sneaky. I'll forward this to the board."

"Thank you Phil." Ranma stood and left his office.

"Mom," Saburo said, "you know we're leaving in thirty days?"

"Of course I do, Saburo-kun," she replied in Japanese. This was a conversation she didn't want overheard.

"Then why did you make that deal with Pagonis-sensei?"

"Because you still need an education, Saburo-kun. I don't want you attending the Embassy school, and your father agrees with me. You, more so than your brother and sister, are Japanese. We don't want you to miss out on that side of your heritage."

"So what does that mean to me? I'll be attending a local school?"

"As will Chris and Nodoka. Think of it as a challenge to master a new school environment, as you've mastered an American school." They paused outside Saburo's first period classroom. "Do you have your pass?"

"Hai."

"Good. I'll see you at gym. And remember what you were taught in aikido, Saburo-kun, if Hector attacks you again."

"Hai." Saburo said, as he opened the door and began his school day.


	19. Chapter XVII

AN: Crossovers galore! And the Disclaimers are: Ranma is, of course, the property of Rumiko Takahashi; Kei Nagase is from Ace Combat 5, and belongs to Namco; Captain Kirk, well no explanation is really needed there; Sailor Moon and friends are the property of someone else entirely. All I'm doing is perverting them for my own use and fun.

* * *

Your typical, nondescript Chevy GSA van sat idling outside the Marx residence, waiting for it's passengers. Or, more specifically, one passenger. Saburo was saying good bye to his girlfriend. And dragging it out, much to the displeasure of his father. Of course Marx was wondering why they had to fly commercial, as opposed to military, and came to the conclusion that General Cortalano was having the last laugh. "Saburo," Marx called, "if you don't hurry, we're going to miss our flight."

"Yes sir," he replied. He looked in Jenny's sad doe eyes. "I'm going to miss you so much, Jenny."

"I know, Saburo," she replied. "Email me your address when you get it; I'll write often."

"So will I," he said.

Jenny, knowing her boyfriend really didn't like open displays of affection, hugged Saburo, and kissed him.

* * *

With his family getting settled into their apartment in Juuban, Marx was getting settled into his office at the Embassy. He'd been introduced to his staff, and found calling his aide "yeoman" odd. But then, he'd never had a petty officer for an aide before. The JDA liaison, JASDF Major Kei Nagase, seemed like a cold fish; Yeoman Rand assured her new boss that the Major would eventually warm up.

There was a knock at the oak door, and thinking it was his aide, bade them to enter. "Jesus, Scooter, it's been what- 15 years," Ambassador Brian "Doctor" Cobb said.

Marx turned and looked at his former wingman. "Doc! How the hell are you!" He grabbed the Ambassador in a bear hug. "When did you become a diplomat?" Marx broke the manly hug, and offered Doctor a seat, while he sat behind his desk.

"About two years ago. It pays to support the right people. How are Ranma and Saburo?"

"They're fine. We had twins ten years ago. Chris is becoming an almost spitting image of me, and Nodoka looks just like her mother. Saburo was a 4.0 GPA back home, beating both me and his mother."

"Scooter, I remember you telling me that you graduated near the bottom of your class in high school. Anyone with half a brain can beat your GPA."

Marx rolled his eyes at the Ambassador. "Thanks a lot, Doc," he growled. "Anyway, Saburo takes to schoolwork with the same intensity he takes to his martial arts—to be the best there is."

"Glad to hear it. Oh, congratulations on the Silver Star, by the way."

"Thanks. Doc, I need to know: did you put the request in for me?"

Cobb looked at his friend. "No. I put a request in for someone fluent in Japanese, so they can talk plainly with the Self-Defense Forces. I never assumed that they would send you."

"That son of a bitch…" Marx growled, thinking about MG Cortalano.

"Don't dwell on it, Scooter. Besides, you're back among friends. It'll be just like Misawa, just without the flying."

"Thanks, Doc. Hey, speaking of Misawa, how about we round up two more for a game of poker tonight?"

"Ah, that brings me to the other reason why I'm here. We're hosting a reception for the new Chinese Ambassador tonight. Full monkey suit and spouse. Receiving line starts at 2000 hours."

"Great," Marx muttered. "I'll let Ranma know. It's good to see you again, Doc."

"Same here, Scoot. See you tonight."

As Cobb closed the door behind him, Marx picked up the phone and prayed that Ranma had NTT hook the phone up…then set the receiver back down as he realized he didn't have his home number. He picked the receiver back up and dialed his aide. "Yeoman Rand, have my driver bring the car around."

"Yes sir."

Marx hung up and grabbed his battered A-2 and headed out of the office. "If anyone is looking for me, tell them I'm out for the rest of the day. And if it's really important, have them speak to Lt. McConnell."

"Aye sir," Rand replied to the rapidly retreating back of her new boss. "He's definitely not like Captain Kirk," she muttered as she returned to her paperwork.

"I'm home," Marx called, exchanging shoes for slippers.

"You're home early," Ranma said, as she picked a piece of Styrofoam peanut out of her hair.

"There's formal reception tonight at the Embassy for the new Chinese Ambassador."

"I guess you found out about it before you got here?"

"Yep. I would have called but, I didn't know if NTT came by and hooked the phone up. And even if they were, I don't know the number."

"They were just here," Ranma said, as she handed her husband a tag with the phone number on it. "What time's the reception?"

"Eight. Have you unpacked the formal stud yet?"

Ranma nodded. "Remember, we packed those with your uniforms and the rest of the clothes."

Marx kissed his wife. "You're a blessing. I'm going to start getting ready. Oh, by the way, guess who my boss is?"

"Who?"

"My old wingman, Brian Cobb," Marx said, chuckling.

"My God, it's a small world. How is he?"

"He's still the same old Doc from Misawa."

"Go get cleaned up. I'll join you in the furo in a few minutes," Ranma said. Marx gave his wife a lecherous grin as he went into the bathroom. "Pervert," she muttered. "Saburo!"

Their eldest son came into the living room, covered in dust and packing materials. "Yeah, Mom?"

"Your father and I have a formal reception tonight at the Embassy, so you'll be in charge."

"Okay. Do you know when you'll be home tonight?"

"No, but don't be surprised if we're home late. Are you ready for school tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he muttered.

Ranma smiled at her son. "Just like me when I started school," she said with a chuckle. "The landlord was gracious enough to leave the takeout menus from the last tenant."

"Ok, Mom."

Marx and Ranma made it back to the Embassy with just barely enough time to spare. Dashing into position on the receiving line, they received frosty looks from the career diplomats. The Colonel gave the same look right back to them, showing his disdain for these paper pushers. "Ladies and Gentleman," Cobb's Chief of Staff announced, ending further staring contests. "Her Excellency, the Chinese Ambassador. The double doors opened. Ranma's eyes went wide when she saw who the Ambassador was.

Cobb walked beside Shampoo, introducing his staff and their spouses to her. "My military attaché, recently transferred from the United States, Colonel…"

"Christopher Marx. It's been a few years, Colonel," Shampoo said. "Sister, how are you doing?"

"Very good, sister," Ranma replied. "Let's talk, later."

Shampoo nodded, and let Cobber continue escorting her through his staff.

* * *

At the same time the receiving line started at the Embassy, Saburo was deciding what to order for dinner. "Eh, this'll work," he said, finally deciding. He called Chris and Nodoka in. "What kind of okonomiyaki do you want?"

Chris looked over the menu. Even if their father couldn't read kanji, Ranma insisted that their children be able to read it from an early age. "I want a seafood!" Nodoka replied coolly that she wanted a vegetarian.

"Ok." He picked up the phone, and dialed.

"Ucchan's. What can I get ya?"

"I'd like 2 beef, one seafood and one vegetarian."

"2 beef, 1 seafood, 1 vegetarian. Anything else?"

"Nope."

"Delivery or pickup?"

"Delivery." Saburo gave them the address and phone number.

"Ok, forty five minutes."

"Thanks." Saburo hung up the phone and mentally added 30 minutes to the time—something his father called the Chinese Takeout time warp. No matter how large or complicated the order, the answer was always the same.

* * *

As Ranma and Shampoo caught up on each other's lives for the past ten years, Cobb and Marx were at the bar. "Scoot, how does your wife know the Ambassador?"

"Let me ask you this, Doc, before I answer: Do you know where Shampoo's from?"

"Some backwater province, who's name escapes me for the moment." Cobb replied, taking a sip of his Johnny Walker.

"The same backwater province that became autonomous five years ago. After Shampoo showed a keen mind in diplomacy, and got the three major powers there to agree to give peace a chance.

"There's a training ground in the province that Ranma was brought to by her father. I can't and won't go into all the details, but you probably remember what I said before Major Thompson kicked our asses into our cockpits. That was where she escaped from her father's clutches." Marx took a sip of his sake. "Ranma was adopted into Shampoo's family."

"So your wife's a Chinese national?"

"No. She's still Japanese; always has always will be. The way Ranma described it, it barely made sense then, and still doesn't today."

"Ah, I see," Cobb said, even though he didn't really.

"Don't feel uncomfortable about it, Doc. Like I said, I still don't understand Ranma's relationship with the Ambassador. And I've been married to her all these years." Marx drained the last of his sake. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to interrupt the two." Cobb nodded, and ordered another Johnny Walker Blue, as his former wingman asked his wife to dance.

The dance floor was virtually empty as the band began playing a slow Benny Goodman number. Cobb looked at his friend and wondered what his life would have been like if he'd ever gotten married. He reflected back on his bachelor's life and thought of lost opportunities—like that green-haired school teacher he dated while at Misawa.

Setsuna had told him she wasn't ready for a steady relationship, as her work as an educator was paramount, and she was vying for a slot in the guidance department of the then-brand new Juuban High School. Cobb finished his glass of scotch and resolved to stop wallowing in self-pity, maybe even see if she was still working at Juuban.

"You're still as graceful as ever, my dear," Marx remarked to his wife, as the band finished _If Dreams Come True_ and shifted into Glenn Miller's _Moonlight Serenade_.

"And you're still horrible with compliments, anata," Ranma teased.

"That's it; you're going to get it tonight."

"You can try, Christopher," she countered.

"No nookie for you, then," Marx replied with mock seriousness.

"Please," she begged, pouting cutely and coupled it with sad puppy dog eyes.

"Maybe. If you tell me what you and your sister were talking about."

"Amazon business. No business for stupid foreigner males," she replied, in Shampoo's sometimes bimbo-ish Japanese.

"Let's see…as head of the household, if it concerns my family, it's my business; and since I'm an Amazon by marriage, it becomes my business. And as defense attaché, if it affects the security of the United States or any of it's allies, if becomes my business. Shall I go on?"

"There is a problem, but its closer to home. A heck of a lot closer." _Moonlight Serenade_ had just ended, and the band moved to a faster number, one Marx wasn't inclined to dance to. He led his wife over to a quite corner of the reception hall. "How much closer," he asked as he sat down.

Ranma sat across from him, adjusting her evening gown. "Let's say, for example, that a certain Elder 'forgot' that Saburo is the son of an Amazon, and not an outsider."

"And…let me guess, based on what you and Shampoo have told me. Summer is usually the time for the annual Challenge, correct?" Ranma nodded. "And somehow, Saburo got involved."

Ranma sighed. "He defeated this year's champion, Tigar. She Kissed him."

Marx pushed his glasses up, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Did they…?"

"No. Shampoo suspended the Kiss, since the kids were due to leave the next day."

"Thank God for small favors and a sister in law whose an Elder. What else did Shampoo have to say about our son, Casanova? Or our daughter in law?"

"Tigar came with Shampoo to the Chinese Embassy, and had been adopted by Elder Rinse after she arrived in the village.

"You're also not going to believe the rest of what I'm about to say."

Marx smiled at his wife. "I believed you 16 years ago, when you told me magic existed."

"Well, I hope you're still ready to believe. Tigar is a tiger that happened to fall in the Nyanniichuan."

"Ok, that I can believe. But there's more, isn't there?"

Ranma nodded. "Our daughter in law is…unique, which is how Shampoo described it to me."

"Well then, I guess I'll inform Her Excellency that we'd like to meet our daughter in law."

"Shouldn't be too hard. Shampoo said she's going to be in Saburo's class at Juuban High."

"Great," was all that Marx muttered, after downing a glass of champagne.


	20. Chapter XVIII

An answer to Otakuboy's question on the ages of everyone here:

COL. Marx- 48  
Ranma- 32  
Saburo- 16  
Chris, Jr. - 10  
Nodoka- 10

oooooooooo

Morning arrived at the Marx household, not with a bang, but a whimper. Well, more like a groan. The sun streaming in through the window didn't help, as the head of the household groaned in the bliss of a hangover. "That'll be the last time I mix sake and champagne," he muttered. It felt like there was an anvil chorus banging away inside his head. He peeled an eye open, and whimpered as the sunlight hit his bloodshot eye.

He smiled (although it hurt like a dickens) that Ranma was also passed out on the bed. Marx was about to do something, when a tantalizing aroma tickled his nostrils. Throwing on his robe, Marx followed the smells to the kitchen, where Saburo was making breakfast.

"Morning Dad," Saburo said, from the stove. "Coffee's already made and waiting for you."

"Thanks, Saburo." Marx poured himself a cup, then took the sugar and did a 3 to 5 second pour. Taking a sip, he could feel the anvil chorus receding, or at least dropping in volume from forte to piano. "Son, what happened last summer?"

"Why do you ask, Dad?" Saburo set his father's fried eggs in front of him.

"Because your Aunt, and sponsor for those visas, told your mother something interesting. Something about a Kiss."

"Crap," the eldest son muttered. "I didn't think it was that serious," he said in his defense. "Hell, we're Amazons by adoption; I didn't think the Kiss of Marriage should have applied."

"Apparently Rinse decided to ignore our family's status and grant Tigar's Kiss." Marx took a sip of coffee, as he read his son's reactions. "It was fortunate that your Aunt was raised to an Elder when Cologne died. She suspended it, at least for the time being."

"At least she's still in the village." Saburo saw the look on his father's face. "Is she?"

Marx smirked, as he placed an index finger against his lower lip. "That…is a secret. Are your brother and sister up?"

"Yes sir. They're outside sparring."

"Ok." Marx finished his cup of coffee and eggs. He looked out the window and saw a nondescript Toyota sitting across from the apartment. "This is going to be interesting."

"What's that, Dad?"

"Protective Services wants to detail guards for you, your brother and sister, and your mother."

"Great," Saburo muttered. "Don't they know we can protect ourselves?"

"I know that, your mother knows that, you know that, but the Embassy doesn't know that. It's bad enough we have a surveillance unit watching the apartment."

"So, I'm going to have a shadow with me at school?" His father nodded. "So much for meeting kids my own age."

Marx nodded again. "Your mother will be taking Chris and No-chan to their school."

"So that means you'll be coming with me?" Marx made an affirmative noise around his second cup of coffee. "Great."

Juuban High School was your typical Japanese secondary school, with your generally typical Japanese high school students. Which, for the faculty, was grateful for. Which also meant none of the levels of weirdness that Furinkan High, Tomobiki High, or even Okayama High, down in Okayama Prefecture.

Juuban, as a whole, however, had its own weirdness levels that more than made up for the relative normalcy of the high school. According to both urban legend and _Weird Tokyo_, Juuban was the home to the Sailor-suited Defenders of Love and Justice. That put it on par with Nerima and its panty thief, and Tomobiki with its tiger-striped bikini-clad lass chasing after her perverted fiancé. Supposedly Minato-ku was one of those wards that Godzilla avoided, along with Nerima and Tomobiki.

So when the Embassy limo pulled up in front of the high school, there was quite a commotion. Saburo and his father climbed out of the back of the Cadillac El Dorado, as Saburo's escort climbed out of the front. Marx motioned for the Protective Service agent to relax, although if someone looked closely, they'd be able to see the outline of his service automatic beneath his jacket.

The trio walked into the school, with a buzz of voices behind them. It wasn't everyday they saw an American Colonel, let alone just an American, walk into the school. They made their way to the school office, where they were intercepted by the principal's secretary. "May I help you?"

"We have an appointment with Kuno-san," Marx said. "Saburo Marx and father."

"Let me check." She looked at Principal Kuno's schedule. "Ah, I see. Let me make sure he's in, and not at the Kendo hall." She picked up the phone and buzzed the inner office. "Hai. Your eight o'clock is here, sir. I'll send them." Mrs. Tachigumi looked at the Americans in front of her. "Principal Kuno will see you now."

"Thank you. Marx entered the Principal's office, only to be stopped by a bokken tip against his chest.

"Halt! You are? But wait! Isn't it proper to introduce one's self first?

"I am Tatewaki Kuno, Principal of Juuban High, and star of the national Kendo circuit—known to my peers as the Blue Thunder!" There was a crash of lightening outside the windows, odd on an otherwise clear day.

Marx looked at the person holding him back, grateful that he was fluent in Japanese. Gregory, the Protective Service agent, didn't understand a word that was said, but looked ready to draw his pistol at any time. The Colonel cleared his throat, and entered his "Squadron Commander from Hell" mode. "I am Colonel Christopher Marx, defense attaché to the US Ambassador. And if you're not careful, I'll see that my son is the last student that attends this school from the US Embassy, or any other embassy." The bokken lowered, and that allowed Marx to relax a little and take in the Principal's office. His "Love Me" wall was full of pictures of himself—winning the prefecture and nationals in high school, as captain of the Todai kendo team, his wedding photos, which showed a crying long-haired man hugging Kuno; and a photo of scowling woman about Ranma's age.

"Well, Colonel, it seems that your son had an excellent record at Summit High School, scholastically speaking." Kuno's change in attitude pulled Marx out of his evaluation that Principal Kuno was and egomaniacal whack job. "However, here at Juuban High, we pride ourselves on our extremely low delinquency rate—something my father tried to do at Furinkan, but wasn't successful." Kuno launched into a Colonel Klink-esque spiel about how Stalag 13…er, Juuban High was the best public school system in the Tokyo Metropolitan area. "Mr. Marx," Kuno said finally addressing Saburo, "because I am a fair man, as well as a martial artist, anything that you feel might be a threat to your honor, advise the faculty before responding to the challenge. Agreed?"

"Hai, Sensei," Saburo replied.

"Very good. Enjoy your stay here."

"Thank you, sensei," Saburo replied, as he left taking Gregory in tow. Marx nodded respectfully to Kuno and left as well.

Saburo got to his classroom, and found a seat near the back. His curiosity was piqued by the cloaked figure two rows up and across from him. The homeroom teacher walked in right as the late bell rang. "Good morning class. We have two new students joining us today. Will they stand and come forward?" Saburo and the cloaked figure stood and moved to the front of the classroom. "First off, from the Qinghai Autonomous Province of China, Tigar. Everyone give her a big 'Nihao' welcome." Saburo shuddered when he heard her name, and couldn't believe the irony. Standing next to him was his Amazon Law "wife".

"Nihao," she said, keeping it simple, and not removing the hood of her cloak..

"And from the United States," under the hood, Tigar's ears perked up, "Saburo Marx"

"Ano…" Saburo was interrupted by a five-foot nothing catgirl grabbing on to his arm, shouting "Wo Ai Ni, Airrren!" and purring like a giant housecat. The entire class was shocked, to say the least, when Tigar's hood fell down, revealing the cat ears on the top of her head.

Tigar, for her part, ignored the sudden murmuring of voices in the classroom. She'd found her airen in her classroom, like Elder Xian Pu had said. Being raised by Rinse and Mousse (before _his_ fall into the Nyanniichuan), she'd seen how the overly amorous and blind Hidden Weapon's expert showed his affection to Xian Pu. And in her mind, that was how one showed their affections, despite the fact that Shampoo told her otherwise. Saburo, on the other hand, went into mental shutdown, as he felt his arm between a pair of soft mounds.

oooooooooo

Marx was just finishing his coffee, as his deputy, chief of staff, and Maj. Nagase walked in. "Good morning, sir," Lt. McConnell said. Nagase nodded, and LCDR Lowe gave the Colonel a perfunctory grunt.

"Gentlemen, Major," Marx replied. He motioned them to take their seats, and offered the usual coffee and pastries. Once everyone was settled, Marx began his first real staff meeting. "It seems that there are some issues down at Camp Butler," he began, opening the folder sitting on his desk.

"What kind of issues, Colonel?"

"The ones involving the local population, and put the US military in a negative light."

"Sir," Commander Lowe said, "that is the prerogative of PACOM, not us."

"You are correct, Commander. But, as the Defense Department's liaison to State, it is the responsibility of this office to brief the Ambassador of any potential recriminations that would result from our 'meddling' in internal affairs." Marx leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk. "I recall several incidents that occurred with service members on Okinawa, which cast our government in a negative light. I would rather not have repeats of those incidents."

"Well then, Colonel, what are you proposing?" The Commander asked, not liking where this was going.

"Since the staff here is independent of Pacific Command, my recommendation is that we form an independent investigating body, not affiliated with Pacific Command, to provide this office with enough information to advise the Ambassador on an appropriate course of action."

"Sir," Commander Lowe asked, "what is an 'appropriate course of action'?"

"Whether or not to allow the military to try the individual responsible in a military court, or declare him _persona non grata_, and allow him to be tried in the civilian courts."

"What?" LCDR Lowe all but shouted. "A US service member…"

"Is not above the law of a host nation, Commander." Marx's tone of voice reminded Lowe that he was an O-4 and not an O-6. "Yes, the Cold War is still with us, even though the Soviet Union is gradually seeing that Communism is a failure, we have to remember that this is not the 1960s, when our boys could do whatever they wanted and get away with a wrist slapping."

"Colonel, I must protest! This office is to provide diplomatic liaison between JCS and the host nation's military, as well as provide a safe haven for US military personnel."

"Commander, you are out of line," Marx said quietly. "Times are changing, albeit slowly. We need to change with it. The Soviet Union will not always be our immediate focus. Look at we've done in Afghanistan after twenty years of hunting Al-Qaeda."

"Colonel," Major Nagase said, "I'll take your proposal up to my superiors. Perhaps we can circumvent Pacific Command's intervention and make it look like the request came from the General Staff."

"Auspicious thinking Major," Marx replied. "How will the average Japanese citizen react to this information? And how receptive will they be to one of our investigators?"

"Difficult to gauge, sir. The Japanese have been living with an occupation army for almost eighty years. They're used to seeing American soldiers getting away with almost virtual murder for three generations. It'll be hard for them to change their attitudes.

"As for embassy investigators, I'm sure you know how tight-lipped most Japanese are when dealing with foreigners. What I can do, is perhaps add in to the proposal that a member of my staff accompany your investigators, as both translator and a second set of eyes and ears."

"Excellent idea, Major. And thank you for your candor," Marx said. "Is there any other business?" And with that statement, the day's work in the defense attaché's began.

oooooooooo

Saburo sat outside his guidance counselor's office. His first day of school and it hadn't gone as well as he'd expected. He'd discovered that his Amazon fiancée was in the same class as he, in fact starting school at Juuban the same day. It wouldn't have been a big problem, except that she had been raised by Great Aunt Cologne's chief rival-Rinse, who never really recognized Ranma's adoption into the tribe, and therefore claimed Tigar's Kiss legitimate.

The door to the office opened, and Tigar came out, cloak in hand. Saburo braced himself for another glomp, and was surprised when she didn't. "Counselor will see you now, Airrren," she said. Her tail, sticking out from under her fuku, was twitching, showing her irritation. "Tigarrr see you at lunch?"

Saburo cleared his throat, and replied in rusty Mandarin. "Only if shamed Amazon not show affection like before."

Tigar smiled and replied in the same language. "I underrrstand, and will behave." She may be an Amazon warrior, and one of the best trackers in the tribe, raised by an ultra-orthodox Elder, but Shampoo's influence and liberal, cat-like attitudes appealed to the catgirl more than Rinse's.

"Mr. Marx," the counselor called, in English, "come in."

"Hai Sensei," Saburo replied, leaving Tigar to head back to the classroom. He entered the office and closed the door, taking in the surroundings—something his father taught him to do. No photos of family or loved ones, only her Bachelors and Master's Degrees from Todai, her doctorate in history from Oxford, and her doctorate in clinical social work from Georgetown. "You wanted to see me," he asked standing in front of her desk.

Setsuna arched a delicate green eyebrow. "Wanted to, Marx-san; no. Had to, because of your Amazon wife, yes."

"Sensei, because my mother is an adopted Amazon, my 'marriage' to Tigar was suspended by my Aunt," Saburo replied, a fire in his eyes.

"Yes, I know. Tigar has already told me about it. What I'd like to know is what goals you have, and does following through on your…arranged marriage count towards those goals."

"Well, Meiou-sensei," Saburo began, "I haven't really thought about the future. Both my parents are educators, so I've thought about going in that direction."

Setsuna interrupted for a minute. "I thought your father was defense attaché at the Embassy?"

"He is," Saburo clarified. "His degrees are in history, with a specialization in secondary education. Dad was a history teacher before he returned to active duty."

"I see." Setsuna was actually surprised at this, but it was understandable, since she used the Gates mainly to ensure no threats against the creation of Crystal Tokyo. "So you're thinking about a career in education. Very admirable. Any particular field?"

"Well, I'm a martial artist, ma'am, so I might focus on physical education, like my mother, but my dad's turned me into something of a history buff, so I might want to follow in Dad's footsteps. I don't know yet."

"Understandably, Saburo," Setsuna replied. "But let me ask you this: Do any of your goals have your 'wife' in them?"

"Meiou-sensei, I would like to marry whomever I choose to—not forced into marriage because of an untenable situation like my mother. If I happen to choose Tigar, then so be it. If it's another, then I hope Tigar can understand."

"Very mature attitude, Marx-san."

"Well, losing your father for five months when you're six tends to require one to mature quickly."

"I'm sure it can," Setsuna replied, as she wrote out his pass back to class.

oooooooooo

Saburo returned to class, and half-heartedly listened to the lesson—it was a history lesson on the war in Afghanistan, and the success in establishing a free, democratically elected, and pro-Western nation on the borders of the Soviet Union. Saburo knew more about the allied Operation Enduring Freedom, since his father's squadron was deployed there five years ago, to patrol the Afghan-Tadzik border. He was spared from the instructor's nasal monotone by the ringing of the bell. Saburo smiled and did something his mother really frowned on at Summit—he vaulted out the fourth story window to, to the astonished looks and voices of his classmates.

He found a tree, away from the hubbub of the other students, and quickly occupied the space underneath it. Saburo noticed a blonde with Amazon-style odangos "holding court" with apparently three of her friends—one of whom was in his class.

Tigar saw him and wandered over, ignoring the looks of her fellow students. _It's like they've never seen a catgirl before_, she thought as she approached Saburo. "Nihao, Airrren," she purred, as she settled down in the grass, adjusting her fuku as not to flash anyone behind her.

"Nihao, Tigar," Saburo replied. "How come you took off your cloak?"

"Guidance counselorrr said it not parrrt of drrress code," she replied, as she pulled out her bento and opened the box. "Mmm," she purred, "tuna."

Saburo smiled. He remembered meeting Tigar five years ago, during his first visit to his Aunt's village, and learning about her love for fish. They got into a scuffle back then, and just about once a week, sometimes more. Even though she kept quiet about it, Shampoo had an inkling that Rinse has seen that first scuffle and decided then and there that when it was time, she'd ensure that Tigar would be defeated by Saburo.

Last summer was the first time that all three Marx children went to the Joketsuzoku for formal training under Amazon masters. Ranma had been training Chris and Nodoka in Amazon Wu Shu, so they had a basis for when they went. True to her school, Ranma had incorporated it into her school of Anything Goes, officially recognized by the head of the Saotome Clan, and by default Saotome School.

Saburo wouldn't admit it, but he had developed a crush on the catgirl four years ago. So as much as he'd put up a good front in front of his parents, he was glad she was here. Of course, he also had Jenny back in the States, and really didn't want to end that relationship. Which stuck him smack dab in the middle of a love triangle—something he really had wanted to avoid. "Tigar," he said, "would you…what would…"

"Airrren, I know you have girrrl back in Amerrrica. I'm not stupid. Norrr am I blind like newborrrn kitten. We see what kind of currrve ball Aphrrrodite thrrrows ourrr way." Without thinking of the consequences, Tigar did what she did back in the village when they were tired after playing or sparring: she curled up next to Saburo, and dozed off. For his part, Saburo's hand automatically began scratching behind her ears, which elicited a typical catty response from the catgirl—a loud purring.

Over where the "court" was, Minako Aino looked over at the couple. "Aw, aren't they cute," the Senshi of Love gushed.

Usagi and the others looked over. "Who are they? Are they new here?"

Ami answered. "The son of the new US defense attaché, Saburo Marx; and the ward of the new Chinese Ambassador, Tigar."

"He looks like…"

Ami held up her hand, interrupting Makoto. "Don't say, Mako-chan. Tigar is supposedly a Chinese Amazon. I did a little research with the Mercury Computer during history. And I won't go into all the history of the Amazons, but they have this 'Kiss of Marriage' law where if an outsider male defeats an Amazon, she is bound by law to give him the Kiss.

"And the way Tigar shouted 'Nihao Airen!' this morning, tells me Saburo-san defeated her."

"So," Makoto asked.

"There's a corollary to both their Kiss of Marriage and Kiss of Death laws—if an obstacle gets in the way, remove it. Permanently."

"Oh," the Senshi of Jupiter replied dejectedly. "All the good ones are either taken or gay," she muttered. Minako nodded in agreement, as Ami and Usagi shared a knowing look at the perpetually dateless duo.

Saburo sat there scratching Tigar in that secret spot behind a cat's ears the gets them purring, when the bell rang. "Tigar," he said, "time to go back to class."

Her response was typical cat. "Don'wanna; comfy," she purred.

_Great_, Saburo thought._ Of course, if we do get married, at least we started out as friends_. "Looks like want to be difficult," he muttered. He scooped up the Amazon catgirl and made his way to the classroom—via the window ledges.

Tigar, not feeling solid ground under her, woke up and saw what Saburo was doing—not before almost twisting out of his grasp.

Saburo merely smiled at her, and tightened his grip. But she still twisted at the wrong moment.

Tigar's movement threw Saburo's balance off just enough, that as he placed his foot on the ledge to their classroom, it slipped off the narrow concrete sill. "Kuso!" Saburo shouted as he threw Tigar up in the air. Gravity reasserted itself, pulling the martial artist back down, as the late bell rang.

"Whee!" Tigar shouted, as she adjusted herself in midair to at least land on all fours.

Saburo, on the other hand, found himself landing flat on his back, creating a nice Wile E. Coyote-style crater. "Ite!" He moaned from the bottom of the hole.

"Oof," Tigar let out, as she landed. "That was fun! Let's do it again!"

All Saburo could see was blue sky, clouds, and his classmates, albeit faintly. He climbed out of the Saburo-shaped crater, feeling very much like a certain _lupus ludicrous_, and also very glad that Auntie Shampoo trained him in the Breaking Point Technique. Tigar had this happy look on her face, as he led her back up to the classroom. The teacher, with a scowl on her face looked at the two coming in late. "Buckets, hall—now."


	21. Chapter XIX

Saburo walked into their new home in Juuban, and threw his school bag down on the couch. It aggravated him that he had a shadow while at school, but was actually glad that Gregory had stayed in the faculty lounge the most of the day. It was almost a shame that he couldn't invite Tigar back to study, without having his father put in a request through diplomatic channels. "Taidama," he called, not really expecting an answer. Of course it wasn't like in New Jersey, where he could tell one or both of his parents were home by the cars in the driveway.

"How was school," Ranma asked, from the kitchen.

"For the first day, not bad," Saburo said, as he walked into the kitchen. "Uh, Mom, how come you're wearing your gi?"

"I'll be teaching at a local Dojo. Besides, I need something to do while everyone is either at school or work." With the exception of her time with the Amazons, Ranma never sat at home, idle during the day. High school, undergraduate studies, work, her Masters program at night; all were the result of her 16 years of marriage. When she had some time to herself, Ranma'd think about what might have happened if she hadn't been to Jusenkyo, or her transformation was dependent on the temperature of the water hitting her, like in _Tenchi Nibonnoichi_. At which point, she'd wind up telling herself: "I'd probably would have wound up with Pops mooching off my hard work running a dojo, and married to some uncute, violent tomboy because of some idiotic pledge that Pops and her father made, probably while drunk." Which usually resulted in the final thought of: "Damn, I'm glad that didn't happen to me."

"Oh, ok," Saburo replied. He understood just how much his mother loved to teach. If it wasn't as physical education teacher, it was as sensei of the Summit High School Martial Arts Club, or working with the Union County (NJ) Police teaching a women's self-defense class. "I ran into Tigar today."

"Oh?" Ranma raised an eyebrow, in a very Spock-like fashion.

"Yeah. Seems she's in my class." Ranma nodded, as though she hadn't been told last night about her eldest son's wife.

"Taidama!" Came the shout from the twins, as they came rushing in, ending any chance for Saburo and his mother to speak about his day. At least he didn't have a chance to tell his mother that he was sent out in the hall with buckets of water for being late to his class after lunch or the reason why.

"I'm gonna practice," Saburo said, as he went to his bedroom.

Ranma sat down on the couch. "He's confused," she said quietly. "He doesn't know what to do about Jenny and Tigar. And if he's anything like Tenchi in that anime, God help him if that fat fool for his grandfather suckered anyone into arranged marriages." She had conveniently forgotten about what her mother told her when they were at Misawa.

00000

It was close to seven when Marx walked through the door. It wasn't intentional, but his first real day ran far longer than expected. Who'd have thought that his old wingman was a stickler for staff meetings? At least, for the time being, Marx was keeping his investigatory body a quiet secret; with only his immediate staff knowing about it. Unfortunately, someone like Commander Lowe could make the whole thing an untenable situation. "I'm home," he called. He didn't hear anything, until he felt his wife's arms snake around his waist from behind. Ranma could be _very_ quiet when she wanted to be.

"Hello, stranger," Ranma said. "You're not going to do anything perverted, are you?"

Marx twisted around and kissed his wife, before answering. "That all depends on you, love." He began kissing along her face, then down her neck to that sweet spot where her shoulder and neck met.

"For Christ's sake, you two; get a room!" Their eldest son said, as he walked into the living room, to watch some TV. "I swear you two are worse than some of my classmates at Summit." Saburo stalked back out of the living room, trying to banish the mental image of his parents making out. There was the hollow thump of a head hitting the wall. Repeatedly.

"Well, at least it wasn't your mother that caught us," Marx said, blushing.

"No. Mom would be giving us advice and cheering us on. Man, I never knew she was a pervert until she came over to visit," Ranma replied, her face as red as her hair.

"You'd think she'd be happy with three grandchildren to spoil. So, what's for dinner?"

"Saburo found this really good okonomiyaki place not too far from here. I was thinking we could go out for dinner."

"Do you think they really want okonomiyaki two nights in a row, aisuru?" Marx asked, as he loosened his tie. As much as he was enjoying his new job, wearing Class-Bs all day was already wearing thin. At least as Operations Group commander, he had the ability to wear whatever the duty uniform was that day, usually BDUs or, more often than not, a flightsuit. But his responsibilities required the Class-Bs, since after his first meeting of the day was over, the rest of his day could be filled with various other meetings. A diplo-dunce position was simply another hole punched in his card, as he climbed the ladder of rank, should he suddenly find himself on the list for Brigadier General. He made colonel three years ago, and would probably retire a colonel, since he wasn't "political" enough to make flag. Besides, if Cortalano pulled some strings after Marx left New Jersey, there'd be no way in the nine rings of Hell that he'd get his flag rank.

"Probably not. What about soup and sandwiches then?"

"Simple enough," he replied. "I'm going to take a long soak and get out of this monkey suit."

Ranma's eyes sparkled as she got a perverted thought. "Do you remember that snowy December morning when I started training you in the Art?" She whispered in her husband's ear.

"Yes," he drawled.

"Well…I'll wash your back, if you wash mine," she said with a mischievous smile.

"Aisuru, the kids are here. Maybe we can send them to your mother's for the weekend, after Saturday's half day." Ranma gave her husband those big, beautiful blue puppy dog eyes while pouting cutely—Musabetsu Kakutou Marx-ryu Puppy Dog Attack. Thing is, she used it on her husband so many times; Marx was becoming desensitized to it. "Saturday, ok?"

"Oh, okay," she said, still with a pout on her face. "I'll go fix dinner then." Marx watched as his wife walked back to the kitchen, before he headed to their bedroom to change and grab his bathing supplies.

As the furo filled, Marx reflected on his sixteen years of marriage to his wife, as the best decision he ever made. After three years of blissful marriage to his first wife, she'd died when her car was hit by a tractor-trailer on Interstate 287, outside of Morristown. He'd been on duty at Teterboro, before it's acquisition by the Department of the Air Force, with his tank platoon from the 2nd Battalion, 102nd Armor Regiment, NJ Army National Guard. They were providing security at the airport in the wake of the terror bombings of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.

After a night of listlessly wandering around the house that he and his wife owned, Marx went to the local Air Force recruiters, and convinced the former airman turned officer to try to qualify for undergraduate pilot training. And, with the only exception his eyes, he passed the flight physical. But with the services being pulled in multiple directions and insufficient numbers of men and women joining as pilots, the flight surgeon at MEPS waived the requirement, provided he start wearing contacts when he flew.

Released from the National Guard to active duty, Marx was on a plane to Sheppard AFB by the end of September. While there, that was where Marx received his unfortunate _nom de guerre_—"Scooter". His instructor saw him walking into base exchange with his issued nerd glasses and started laughing. "Lieutenant," he said between guffaws, "you look very Scooter-ish. From henceforth, you shall be known to all as 'Scooter'." The captain that was Marx's instructor didn't even have the courtesy to wait until the next day, when they were debriefing, but spat it out right there, where everyone and their mother could hear it. The next day, the normally quiet and reserved lieutenant aggressively pursued his instructor over the ranges of northern Texas, but the callsign stuck.

As he was finishing up UPT, the dream sheets—requests for schools and future assignments—were handed out. Marx had fallen in love with the F-15 when he was an airman in Iceland, and put both Eagle and Strike Eagle down on his sheet, along with his other dream aircraft, the B-52. His scores in ACM (Air Combat Maneuvering) kept him out of bomber training, but weren't high enough for either of the Eagles. The squadron had moved into the ready room, and listened as the assignments were handed out. "Scooter, Luke Air Force Base, F-106," the senior instructor called. Marx was both intrigued and disappointed that he missed his shot to be an Eagle driver, but was going to be in the 106.

It was the best decision the Air Force ever made for Marx, since he was assigned to Misawa after graduation from Luke. And then eventually met his wife.

"Chris," Ranma called, pulling him out of his reverie, "dinner's almost ready."

"Alright." He climbed out of the cramped tub—one thing they did when they got back to New Jersey was to have a decent-sized soaking tub placed in the master bathroom—and toweled off. Throwing on the physical training uniform he brought in with him, he headed out to the dining room, where the phone was ringing.

Chibi-Chris picked it up. "Moshe, moshe Marx-ke…Konbanwa, obaba…Hai…" He set the phone down. "Mom, its Grandma."

"Hi Mom," Ranma said, after taking the phone from her son. "…Saotome/Tendo agreement? Wasn't that Baka-panda's thing?...Ok, okay. We'll go on Sunday…Okay, Mom, I know. I'll make sure everyone is dressed traditionally. Are we going to pick you up at your house, or are you going to come here first?...Ok. Love you too, Mom. _Ja_." Ranma hung up the phone, sat back down, and started banging her head on the table. "I am so going to thrash that damned panda the next time I see him."

"What was that all about," Marx asked, his grilled cheese sandwich halfway to his mouth.

"Do you remember when we met Mom, and got me restored to the Clan registry?" She asked, picking ramen noodles out of her hair.

"Vaguely," Marx replied, setting down his sandwich. The kids were looking at their parents, trying to figure out what was going on.

"Well, that call was to remind me about an obligation I have to my Clan, to unite with the Tendo Clan."

"Surely you're not serious," he asked.

"I am serious," she replied. Apparently she was, since she didn't finish the traditional line. She looked around the table, her husband following her gaze.

Both pairs of eyes settled on their eldest son. Saburo looked back at his parents. "Oh no! Oh hell no!" He said, his hands moving automatically to making warding gestures. "Look, I've got enough girl problems as it is, with Jenny and Tigar. I don't need another girlfriend or even a fiancée!"

"Saburo-kun," Ranma said, "We'll meet with them first, and decide from there. Okay?"

"Maybe," Saburo replied morosely, before returning to his food.

00000

After his father dropped Saburo and his shadow off at school, the teenage Marx walked into school, with his head hanging low. Last night's revelations were, at best, disturbing. He was already torn between Tigar and Jenny, and didn't need another girl thrown in to the mess that his life was becoming. At least he didn't have any rivals here yet, so that was a good thing.

"Nihao, Airrren," Tigar said, as she walked up to him.

"Nihao, Tigar," Saburo replied.

"Something wrrrong, Airrren?"

"No…yes," he replied sourly. "Mom told me about an obligation my fat panda of a grandfather created last night. I'm supposed to unite my family with my baka grandfather's training partner's."

"I can see wherrre that would cause a prrroblem, Airrren," Tigar said sympathetically, as they walked into the classroom. Their homeroom teacher, informed by Setsuna of their status, shuffled their seating assignments after the rest of the class strolled in, allowing the Amazon law husband and wife (currently suspended, as per Elder Xian Pu) to sit next to each other.

The day proceeded slowly for Saburo, as his mind was on other things besides schoolwork, like what kind of family his prospective fiancée's was like. Knowing his luck, they'd be uncute, violent tomboys with a crybaby for a grandfather, who have no skill whatsoever in the Art. Even though with his dating Jenny, who was by no stretch of the imagination a martial artist, there wasn't family honor riding on that relationship. And Tigar, while a superb martial artist was an Amazon, and Saburo really had no desire to renounce his American citizenship and become a second-class citizen.

The lunch bell finally interrupted his musings, and ushered in his favorite period. The teenage Marx vaulted out the window, and found his tree unoccupied again. Tigar strolled up to him, like a cat on the prowl, her tiger-striped tail swishing behind her as her tufted ears lay flat against her head. "Yes, Tigar?"

"Why'd you leave me up therrre, Airrren?"

"I prefer the express route, Tigar," he replied smoothly. "Besides, my School is an aerial school. You should know that."

"Trrrue," the catgirl replied, as she sat down. "But you still shouldn't leave Amazon wife behind like that. Stupid male." There was a smile in her voice as she said it.

Saburo raised an eyebrow. "That's so? Need I remind you who beat you on the Challenge Log last summer?"

"That was a fluke, Airrren," she countered. "Afterrr we eat, would you like to sparrr?"

"Certainly," the heir to the Musabetsu Kakutou Marx-ryu said, as he opened his bento.

00000

The Inner Senshi, as well as the rest of the school, sat watching breathlessly, watching Saburo and his catgirlfriend spar. The pigtailed martial artist was bouncing from tree to tree, like a super ball doped up on heavy doses of amphetamines. "Wow," Makoto said, "I want to be able to do that." Minako nodded in agreement.

"All you have to do is ask his mother," Setsuna said from behind Usagi.

The odango'd blonde looked behind her, at the Senshi of Time. "I wish you'd stop doing that. It gets old after awhile."

"Who's his mother," Makoto asked.

"Ranma Marx, head of the Musabetsu Kakutou Marx-ryu," Setsuna said. "She's teaching at a small dojo in Juuban."

"I've heard rumors that there's a sister school in Nerima—the Musabetsu Kakutou Tendo-ryu," Ami said. "And that that particular school houses the perverted founder of both schools."

"The Marx school is an offshoot from the original, and now dead Saotome school. The founder of the Saotome Ryu is currently in custody in the United States for kidnapping an American citizen."

"Who was kidnapped?" Makoto asked, her interest piqued.

Setsuna motioned to the hyperactive martial artist. "Your classmate's mother," she simply said.

"Oh wow!"

00000

Knowing what was coming for Saburo, the week seemingly dragged hour by hour until Sunday arrived. Dressed in kimonos, the family arrived in Nerima, at the Tendo Dojo. As they rang the bell at the gate, Nodoka looked at her eldest grandson. "Saburo-kun," she said, "calm yourself. If things do not go well, then we'll hold off until the next generation."

"Mom, I don't know why you want to go through with this," Ranma said. "I mean this was one of that baka panda's wild schemes, probably just to live off all of my hard work."

"I know dear," Nodoka replied. "But your father dragged the family name through the mud when he was on that training trip with you."

"Then why didn't you move us back to the Sakai registry, Mom? Even in spirit I'm sure Grandfather would have approved."

"I don't know. Even though Father was a renowned fighter pilot during the war, and a successful businessman afterwards, he carried the stigma of being a survivor of the war. I guess it was just something that I didn't want you to have to deal with, Ranma."

Ranma glared at her mother, but could understand the reasoning behind her decision not to transfer back to her grandfather's registry. She was about to respond, when the gate opened. A woman, about three years older than herself, with chestnut hair was standing there. "May I help you," she asked. "Oh, Auntie. How are you?"

"I'm fine Kasumi," Ranma's mother said, making the introductions. "My daughter, Ranma; her husband, Christopher; my grandchildren, Saburo, Nodoka, and Christopher."

Ranma looked at the eldest Tendo daughter. There was an air of calm about her, which if she had been able to stay even partially male, Ranma would have liked to have gotten to know and maybe even marry her. "Sorry about this," Ranma said, her hand reaching up behind her ponytail.

"That's quite alright, Ranma-san. Please come in. Grandfather is waiting in the tea room." Kasumi led the Marxs in to the house. Sitting at the table was Soun, his long hair now gray, Akane Kuno, her husband Tatewaki, their daughters Kimiko and Natsume. Kasumi sat down next to…Ami! Saburo's surprise was clearly evident on his face. Fortunately, Tatewaki was quiet, and not posturing. Maybe it was because he knew what was at stake here, maybe it was because his sister-in-law had a quiet talk with him, or maybe it was because his wife's latest creation dissolved his vocal cords. Of course when dealing with Kuno, one can never quite figure out what's going in his mind anyway.

Soun cleared his throat. Hoarsely, from years of cigarette smoking, he made his introductions. "My daughters, Akane Kuno and Kasumi Mizuno. I regret my middle daughter has dishonored her family by choosing…an alternate lifestyle. My granddaughters Kimiko and Natsume Kuno, both age 11, and my granddaughter Ami Mizuno, age 16." He fixed his gaze on Saburo. "Pick any one you want, son, and she'll be your wife."

"Ano…" Saburo replied, his mind shutting down again.

Ranma fixed Soun with a glare. "What exactly did my father agree to, Tendo-san?"

Soun wilted under the glare. "When we disposed…er, graduated from our training together under the same master…"

"Who lives with you," Akane muttered, "and is a pervert"

"Anyway," Soun continued unperturbed, "we agreed that when we had children, we were to wed them (Although I could have sworn Genma had been busy cheering that he had a son, not a daughter). However, since it has had to wait until the younger generation, it is time to fulfill this honorable contract."

Saburo's mind came back rebooted and came back online, he looked at the three girls before him. Two hadn't even hit puberty yet, and the third was his classmate. He really didn't like his options. And both Tigar and Jenny were going to be so pissed when they found out. Tigar especially, since she was his Amazon-law wife. "Ano…Tendo-san, I guess if I have to choose, I choose Ami."

In unrestrained and illogical righteous fury Akane stood up and shouted: "What! My daughters aren't good enough for your snot-nosed son? I am, after all the Heir to the Tendo School, not Kasumi! I've been training them for the past five years."

Ranma looked at the angry Tendo. _Knowing Pops_, she thought, _I'd probably had been engaged to this violent, uncute bitch of a pseudo-martial artist._ "If you would like, Kuno-san," she said calmly to Akane, "we can decide your daughters' worth by combat."

"Agreed," Akane said a little too quickly. "If one of my daughters win, your son will be engaged to her."

"So it will be two against one?" Akane nodded. "Good. And if my son should win, then the engagement will remain as it is." The Marx matriarch looked at Soun again. "Tendo-dono, I ask permission to use your Dojo for this Trial by Combat."

"Yes, of course," Soun replied.

"We begin in fifteen minutes?" Ranma asked. Akane nodded. "Very well then. We will meet again in the Dojo in fifteen minutes." With that, Ranma and her family stood, and retreated outside.

"Mom," Saburo asked, as he warmed up, "unless her daughters are holding their power back, Ami has a better shot at fighting me."

"What makes you say that, Saburo?" Ranma glanced at her husband, as she warmed up with her son. Marx was shaking his head, the whole time while rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Remember when you taught me how to read power levels?" Ranma nodded. "They're weak, unfocused. It's as though they haven't really been trained in anything other than up to 1st Dan karate."

"So you're going to win anyway?" Saburo nodded. "Well, try not to act too smugly about it when you do win."

"Ok, Mom." Saburo and his family walked into the Dojo. Akane and her daughters were there, dressed in gis.

"You're going to fight in that," Akane asked, referring to Saburo's kimono and hakama.

"Hai, Kuno-san. My mother taught me that when it is time to fight for real, you do not have the luxury of changing into a gi."

"Your funeral," the Heiress of the Tendo School remarked.

"Are we going to talk all day, or fight," Saburo remarked, sliding into a neutral stance, one capable of taking on two opponents. He was glad that he sparred with the siblings, as well as being taught multiple opponent techniques by his Amazon cousins.

"We fight," the Tendo twins said at the same time. They charged, and before anyone could see anything, it was brutally clear that the Heiress of the Tendo School hadn't taught them anything, as her daughters lay unconscious on the polished hardwood floor of the Dojo.

Saburo looked like he had never left his stance. But the sequence of events went like this: the twins charged at the same time, Saburo hit one, then the other in pressure points that paralyzed them and resumed his neutral stance. "Unless there is another challenger, I win," he remarked quietly, "and my choice still stands."

Akane stood up. "I challenge you, Marx-san."

Saburo looked at his new challenger. "Would you like to make this a challenge for the Dojo's sign," he remarked.

Akane looked over to her father. With the barest of perceptible nods, Soun agreed. "Yes. For the School."

"Very well then, it's your funeral, Kuno-san."

"AAAAAAAH-erk!" Akane charged, swinging wildly. Saburo moved with all the grace of his mother (who would have been doing the same thing when they first met in other universes anyway). That is until he got bored with her strong arm tactics and general lack of skill.

Moving faster than a pissed off rattlesnake, Saburo hit every nonlethal pressure point on his challenger. Akane's jaw and major muscle groups locked up, and then went limp as she was hit with a paralysis pressure point, and dropped like a ton of bricks to the hardwood floor. Of course it might have been a little too over the top when her bowels and bladder released, causing Akane to soil herself.

Ranma looked at Soun, as tears came to his eyes. "Tendo-san," she said, "the Musabetsu Kakutou Tendo-ryu is no more."

Kasumi was shocked that this sixteen year old boy was able to defeat her sister, who took on the Horde O' Hentai every day at Furinkan. Ami looked at Saburo. "I take it you learned all this from sparring with Tigar?"

"That and what my mom taught me. Musabetsu Kakutou Marx-ryu also incorporates Amazon Wu Shu as part of the school; which includes the use of moxibustion, acupressure, pressure points and ki control."

"So, I guess since my family's school no longer exists, the engagement's off," Ami said, hesitantly. While it was true that she was a bookworm, she also would have loved to throw it into the faces of the Dateless Duo that she had a fiancé, and would have liked to have tried to make the arranged marriage work. Of course, then there was Tigar to worry about and the obstacle corollary of the Marriage laws.

Saburo smiled at the hidden Senshi of Mercury. "We'll see," he said.

Ranma, after receiving the Dojo's sign from the still crying Soun, raised an eyebrow at her son's antics.

His father, though, was a little more direct, in a manner of speaking. Marx was pounding his head against the wall. "What god did I annoy to deserve this much chaos in my life," he repeated over and over. Up in Asgard, a certain self-proclaimed Goddess of Love was chuckling her shapely ass off, to the mirth of her coworkers.


End file.
